BY 

RICHARD  PARKER 


we- 


fefft.  Of  CALIF. 


'QUIETLY  HE  SLIPPED   ALONG   THE   FOOTPLATE" 


THE   WHIP 


BY 

RICHARD  PARKER 


NOVELIZED  FROM  CECIL  RALEIGH'S 

GREAT   DRURY   LANE   MELODRAMA 

ILLUSTRATED   WITH  PICTURES  FROM  THE  PLAY 


-• 


NEW  YORK 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 

1913 


Copyright,  1913,  by 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACE 

I.  AN  UNUSUAL  INTRODUCTION      .     .     n 

II.  DIANA  THE  HUNTRESS      .     ....     27 

III.  No  TRESPASSERS 36 

IV.  A  MOUSE  IN  THE  STABLE  .     .      .     .     57 
V.    THE  ACCIDENT 70 

VI.  THE  TIME — AND  THE  PARSON     .     .     83 

VII.  THE  TRIALS  OF  LOVE  .....     99 

VIII.  MARRIAGE  MADE  EASY     ....   107 

IX.    A  WOMAN  SCORNED 125 

X.  AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST    .     .      .     .142 

XI.    A  POOR  DESSERT 151 

XII.  BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN      .     .157 

XIII.  CAPTAIN     SARTORIS     RECEIVES     .     .   193 

XIV.  COFFEE  AND  REPARTEE     ....  209 
XV.  AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S    .     .      .     .218 

XVI.    LOCKED  IN 242 

XVII.  MRS.  BEAMISH  RELENTS   ....  253 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.  THE  WRECK 266 

XIX.  AT  NEWMARKET 274 

XX.  MRS.  D'AQUILA'S  INSPIRATION  .  .  284 

XXI.  THE  TRUTH  AT  LAST 291 

XXII.  THE  WHIP  WINS  ........  301 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Quietly  he  slipped  along  the  footplate"  Frontispiece 

FACING   PAGE 

"  'I  thought  perhaps  you  were  asleep,'  Lady  Diana 

said" 125 

"  "They're  after  me !'  he  panted" 193 

"Harry  put  his  arm  about  her.     'Come  away, 

lass!'  he  said" 216 

"The  Whip  was  led  to  safety" 272 

"He  joined  their  hands  and  held  them  both  in  his"   300 


THE   WHIP 


THE  WHIP 

CHAPTER  I 

AN  UNUSUAL  INTRODUCTION 

LADY  DIANA  set  her  mount  at  the  stiffly 
railed  fence  before  her,  and  as  the  pack, 
scenting  the  food  waiting  in  the  kennels, 
swept  through  the  barrier,  Lady  Diana 
went  over  it. 

In  mid  air  she  saw  a  picture,  vividly  and 
anxiously.  Under  the  royal  oak  sat  an  art- 
ist sketching.  So  intent  was  he  on  his  out- 
line of  the  kennels  and  mushroomed  stables 
that  he  gave  no  attention  to  the  hounds  and 
apparently  was  not  conscious  of  the  ap- 
proach hurtling  through  the  air — of  the 
lady  on  her  palfrey. 

The  original  impetus  of  Lady  Diana's 
ii 


THE  WHIP 


leap  would  have  carried  woman  and  horse 
squarely  into  the  person  of  the  artist.  But 
the  moment  the  girl  had  seen  him  a  paralyz- 
ing inhibition  had  stayed  the  force  of  horse 
and  rider  almost  in  the  air,  and  both  lost 
their  carrying  power,  making  a  very  bun- 
gling finale  of  what  had  been  originally  a 
very  fine  movement. 

But  as  it  was,  the  easel,  made  on  the  spot 
by  the  artist  out  of  twigs  and  dead  branches, 
had  been  shattered  by  a  movement  of  one  of 
the  hunter's  sleek  legs,  and,  worse — an  iron- 
shod  hoof  had  made  an  ugly  mark  upon  the 
artist's  left  wrist,  which  had  laid  at  rest  on 
the  moss  while  his  right  hand  sketched. 

In  a  trembling  hurry  Lady  Diana  swung 
from  the  saddle.  Her  mount,  disregarded, 
was  allowed  to  amble  away,  and  browsed 
without  restraint. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry — pray  tell  me  that 
you're  not  hurt — severely,"  she  said,  and 
raised  her  eyes  to  the  stranger's  face. 

12 


AN  UNUSUAL  INTRODUCTION 

She  saw  clean  cut  features,  black  eyes 
with  just  a  shade  of  amusement — of  whim 
in  them — though  there  must  have  been  pain 
in  that  wrist — and  wavy  black  hair.  The 
man  was  in  rough  tweeds,  and  a  cloth  hat  of 
his  suit's  pattern  lay  a  little  way  off. 

But  from  beneath  and  beyond  the 
stranger's  features,  Lady  Diana  Sartoris  got 
her  impression  of  the  man.  There  were 
sadness,  wistfulness,  a  sense  of  the  decay  of 
a  fine  nature,  a  look  of  tragedy. 

His  hurt  did  not  appear  to  concern  him. 
Indeed,  his  whole  being  seemed  devoted  to 
a  scrutinizing,  an  appraising  of  her.  From 
her  green  little  hat  and  her  long  green  coat, 
he  turned  to  note  that  cold  perfection  of  her 
features,  that  fair  chiseling  which,  with  her 
perfect  health,  and  consequent  confident 
poise,  made  this  young  woman  at  times  seem 
almost  too  self-centered,  too  well  schooled. 

Without  answering  the  man  stood  watch- 
ing her,  almost  hungrily,  yet  with  no  repul- 

13 


THE  WHIP 


sive  effect  and  very  respectfully.  The  girl 
repeated  her  inquiry. 

"Not  a  bit,"  he  returned  carelessly.  "It 
was  really  very  stupid  of  me  not  to  have 
noticed  a  pack  in  full  cry  for  its  kennel  feed- 
ing, and  so  inspiring  an  object  as  their  mis- 
tress." 

He  had  covered  his  hurt  with  his  hand- 
kerchief and  knotted  and  twisted  it  before 
the  girl  could  offer  to  minister  to  him. 

"Such  absorption  can  only  be  excused  in 
a  very  great  artist,  and  such  I  assure  you  I 
can  scarcely  hope  to  be." 

His  deprecating  motion  brought  his  open 
sketch  book  nearer  the  girl  and  her  eyes  fell 
upon  its  pages. 

"Why,  there's  the  kennels!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "Oh!  I  mustn't  think  of  your 
sketches,  but  your  hurt.  I  am  profoundly 
sorry.  If  I  could  do  anything — " 

"A  little  thing  that  I  can  attend  to  easily, 
after  a  bit,"  he  said — then  in  courteous  anx- 

14 


iety  to  turn  the  current  of  her  thoughts  he 
went  on:  "It  really  gives  an  idea  of  them, 
doesn't  it?  See,  here  are  some  of  the  dogs." 

The  book  was  now  in  the  girl's  hand. 

"I've  noticed  you  about  sketching  for  the 
past  four  mornings,"  she  confessed,  turning 
the  pages.  "And,  ah,  see,  here's  Dido!" 

With  a  laugh  the  artist  answered, 

"I'm  glad  it's  good  enough  to  recog- 
nize." 

"Oh,  yes — but,"  she  began  and  hesitated. 

"Ah,  there's  a  but,"  laughed  the  stranger, 
merrily. 

"I  draw  a  little  myself,  you  know,"  went 
on  the  girl,  "and  dogs  and  horses  are  rather 
my  strong  point." 

There  was  no  pride  in  her  manner,  only 
the  sublime  self-confidence  of  a  Sartoris  of 
Yorkshire. 

"And  you  don't  think  they're  mine,"  the 
stranger  said,  amusement  in  his  eye,  but  his 
voice  perfectly  serious. 

15 


THE  WHIP 


"I  don't  say  that,"  resumed  the  self-con- 
fident girl,  "but  you  see — it  isn't  quite  right 
Look,  just  here — the  turn  of  the  head." 

Again  there  was  a  jovial  light  in  the 
stranger's  smile. 

"Would  you  put  it  right  for  me?"  he 
asked. 

Lady  Diana  caught  the  bridle  of  her 
horse  and  strode  toward  the  stables. 

"Come  along,  then,"  she  said  imper- 
sonally, "and  we'll  see  what  we  can  do." 

In  the  level  bit  of  ground  before  the  sta- 
bles she  was  greeted  kindly  and  affection- 
ately by  hurrying  stablemen,  her  arrival 
having  been  announced  in  a  way  by  the 
pack,  which  without  requiring  the  guidance 
of  the  whips,  had  rushed  to  the  feeding 
troughs. 

"Take  my  horse,  one  of  you,  will  you? 
And  someone  bring  out  Dido,"  she  ordered 
in  a  tone  that  seemed  very  gracious  to  the 
16 


AN  UNUSUAL  INTRODUCTION 

English  about  her,  but  would  have  jarred 
upon  even  an  American  waiter. 

A  kennelman  carried  out  the  hound  in  his 
arms  and  deposited  her  near  Lady  Diana. 
With  the  sketch  book  on  her  knee,  the  girl 
pointed  her  riding-crop  at  Dido. 

"Can  you  manage  to  hold  her?"  she 
asked. 

The  stranger,  taking  the  hound,  seated 
himself  on  the  corner  of  the  stone  bridge 
that  spanned  a  little  stream  and  was  a  link 
in  the  highway  that  ran  by  the  stables. 

"How's  that?"  he  asked. 

"Just  a  little  more  round,"  she  returned. 
"Sol  That's  capital!"  Then  she  busied 
herself  with  her  pencil. 

"Do  you  exhibit?"  she  asked,  turning  up- 
on him  for  a  second  an  oblique  look,  then 
another  upon  the  drawing. 

"Very  little,"  he  said,  with  marked  hesi- 
tation. 


THE  WHIP; 


"Whose — whose  name  am  I  to  look  for?" 
she  inquired,  a  trace  of  personal  kindliness 
in  her  glance. 

"I'd  rather  not  give  my  name — until 
I've  done  more  for  my  reputation,"  he 
said  a  trifle  awkwardly  and  in  some  con- 
cern. 

The  personal  touch  faded  from  her  man- 
ner and  she  became  again  the  self-centered, 
impregnable  personality  characteristic  of 
the  Englishwoman  or  man  at  will. 

"Oh,  as  you  like,"  she  said.  Then,  hold- 
ing out  the  sketch  toward  him,  she  went  on : 
"There,  look,  how's  that?" 

"By  Jove,  it's  splendid.  What  magic 
you  can  work  with  just  a  touch  or  two,"  he 
exclaimed. 

She  made  him  a  little  bow,  with  some- 
thing not  hostile  in  it,  and  began  quickly 
to  turn  the  pages  of  the  book. 

"Oh,  you  paint  landscapes,  too,"  she  said; 
"and  they're  very  good,  too.  That's  a  deli- 

18 


AN  UNUSUAL  INTRODUCTION 

cious  little  bit,  and  that's  the  spinny  where 
we  killed  last  Fall  and  I  got  the  brush. 
And,  oh!  the  old  half  fortress — half  tower 
sort  of  place.  It  looks  as  though  it  might 
be—" 

She  was  looking  toward  the  seat  of  the 
last  Earl  of  Brancaster  in  the  distance, 
dimly  visible  up  the  glen. 

"The  Rievers,"  the  stranger  finished  her 
sentence.  "It  is.  Haven't  you  ever  been 
there?" 

"Nobody  about  here  goes,"  returned  Lady 
Diana.  "You  see,  it  belongs  to  Lord  Bran- 
caster,  and  he  hardly  ever  visits  it,  though 
I've  heard  he's  here  now.  Did  he  give  you 
permission  to  sketch  it?" 

The  stranger  nodded. 

"I  shouldn't  have  thought  he  would  have 
had  much  sympathy  with  artists  or  art,"  she 
said. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked,  his  glance  for  the 
moment  falling. 

19 


THE  WHIP 


"His  tastes  are  rather — er — notorious. 
I'm  afraid  he's  rather  a  byword — about 
here.  Even  the  country  people  call  him 
'The  Wicked  Earl.' " 

The  thoughtless  words  of  this  young  Eng- 
lishwoman, who  was  as  yet  too  immature  to 
exercise  a  fine  judging  sense,  aroused  the 
artist  and  he  went  closer  to  the  girl. 

"And  because  a  lot  of  yokels  give  a  man 
an  odious  nickname,"  he  said  tersely,  "you 
judge  him  unheard.  What  do  you  know 
of  him?" 

"Nothing,  thanks,"  said  Lady  Diana. 

"Isn't  it  a  bit  rough  on  him  to  believe — 
on  mere  hearsay?"  asked  the  artist. 

"I  don't,  but  my  grandfather,  who  has  a 
kind  word  for  everyone,  says  that  his  grand- 
father was  a  soldier,  his  father  a  soldier  and 
a  gentleman,  but  he  hopes  the  son  will  never 
darken  his  doors.  And  all  the  world  says 
he  fritters  away  his  life  and  is  flinging 
away  his  fortune." 

20 


AN  UNUSUAL  INTRODUCTION 

The  stranger  smiled  with  a  sense  of  pain 
reflected  in  his  face. 

"What  the  world  says  is  often  malice," 
he  said,  going  to  the  rescue  of  Lord  Bran- 
caster,  "but  I'm  sorry  to  hear  what  Lord 
[Beverley  said.  Nobody's  all  bad.  Perhaps 
it's  because  Lord  Beverley  doesn't  know  him 
that  he  thinks  so  ill  of  him.  Perhaps  if  you 
knew  him,  you  might  find — some  little 
good—" 

"I'm  sure  I  hope  so,"  said  Lady  Diana. 
But  the  stranger  continued: 

"I'm  sure  he'd  hope  so.  If  he  has  played 
havoc  with  his  life,  mayn't  he  repent  his 
folly?  Perhaps  in  a  sense  he  never  had  a 
chance — perhaps  he  never  had  a  father  or 
mother  in  his  youth  to  direct  him — and  per- 
haps he'll  turn  out  all  right  now — perhaps 
no  good  woman — " 

A  softly  insidious  voice  thrust  itself  into 
the  intimacy  that  seemed  about  to  begin  be- 
tween these  two  young  people. 

21 


THE  WHIP 


"Ah,  there  you  are,"  it  said. 

Both  the  girl  and  the  man  looked  up  and 
saw  in  the  road  a  motor  car  with  a  chauffeur 
and  a  woman  stepping  out  from  it.  For  the 
briefest  space  the  two  women  measured 
glances.  Lady  Diana  saw  a  tall,  rather 
dark  and  foreign  appearing  young  woman 
of  an  uncertain  age,  whose  black  hair  and 
sharp  features  gave  her,  in  the  estimation 
of  anyone  seeing  her  for  the  first  time,  a 
certain  aspect  of  power. 

A  moment  later  she  was  walking  toward 
them. 

The  artist  was  not  pleased  at  this  intru- 
sion, and  Diana  saw  that  upon  his  face  was 
that  tragic  mask  she  had  noted  when  they 
saw  each  other  for  the  first  time,  not  so 
many  minutes  ago. 

"So  this  is  where  you  come  to  sketch  so 
often,"  went  on  the  woman  from  the  motor 
car.  "Delightful  place!  Pray  introduce 


me." 


22 


AN  UNUSUAL  INTRODUCTION 

The  artist  interposed  himself  between  the 
two  women,  almost  as  though  he  feared 
harm  to  the  younger  of  the  two. 

"I'm  only  a  stranger  here,"  he  said,  while 
Lady  Diana,  quite  at  her  ease  ignored  a  sit- 
uation that  to  one  of  another  nationality 
might  have  been  a  trifle  embarrassing. 

The  intruder  again  swept  Lady  Diana 
with  her  eyes. 

"Indeed,"  she  said,  a  subtle  menace  in  her 
tones.  "Well,  it's  lucky  I  found  you.  If 
we  are  going  for  our  usual  spin  together, 
Frangois  wants  to  tell  you  something  about 
the  car — the  brake  doesn't  act  properly." 

Lady  Diana  was  not  pleased  with  her 
scrutiny  of  the  other  woman.  She  was  too 
young  to  have  esteemed  the  other  fast,  but 
there  was  a  certain  something  about  the  tall 
and  dark  intruder  that  repelled  this  young 
Englishwoman.  So  she  continued,  though 
the  other  talked  at  her,  to  seclude  herself  in 
her  British  reserve. 

23 


THE  WHIP 


To  the  artist,  the  situation  appeared 
greatly  to  need  relief.  So  to  create  a  diver- 
sion, he  walked  toward  the  road  where  the 
car  and  chauffeur  were  waiting. 

"We'll  take  it  down  to  the  village  and 
look  for  a  blacksmith,"  he  volunteered. 

But  the  woman  who  had  come  for  him  in 
the  motor  did  not  move.  She  was  still  in 
hope  that  Lady  Diana  would  recognize  her 
existence. 

"Can't  it  be  done  here?"  she  asked,  still 
eyeing  the  young  English  noblewoman  and 
anxious  for  some  offer  of  aid  that  would  en- 
able her  to  make  Lady  Diana's  acquaint- 
ance. 

"Certainly  not,"  returned  the  artist  al- 
most roughly,  "and,  besides,  here  are  the 
horses.  The  car  may  frighten  them  if  we 
leave  it  in  this  neighborhood." 

The  woman  of  the  motor  car  looked  down 
Lthe  road  and  saw  the  Beverley  string  being 

24 


AN  UNUSUAL  INTRODUCTION 

led  and  ridden  from  the  exercising  on  the 
Downs. 

"Dear  things,"  she  said  for  Lady  Diana's 
benefit.  "How  splendidly  they  look.  Race 
horses,  too.  I  should  have  loved  to  see 
them.  I'd  no  notion  that  there  were  any  so 
near  to  us.  To  whom  do  they  belong?'7 

"Lord  Beverley,"  said  the  artist  very 
shortly  indeed.  "Come  along." 

"Lord  Beverley!  Really,"  exclaimed  the 
woman,  and  then,  made  bolder  by  this 
revelation,  she  spoke  directly  to  Lady 
Diana:  "I  am  so  sorry  we  were  in  the  way 
— pray  tell  Lord  Beverley  I'll  take  great 
care  it  doesn't  happen  again." 

But  this  gracious  speech  won  from  the 
girl  only  a  nod  of  the  head  and  the  singu- 
larly British  irritating  "Thank  you,"  with  a 
rising  inflection  at  the  end. 

"Please  make  haste;  they  are  here,"  the 
artist  cautioned  her. 

25 


THE  WHIP 


"Yes,  yes,  dear,"  the  dark  woman  re- 
turned and  then  smiled  at  Lady  Diana, 
"Good  morning." 

Another  little  nod  of  the  blond  head  and 
a  "Thank  you"  were  her  only  rewards. 
The  artist  bowed  very  impersonally  and, 
with  the  woman  who  had  come  for  him, 
rode  down  the  road. 

Musingly  Lady  Diana  looked  after  them. 

"I  wonder  who  he  is,"  she  said,  "and  what 
hold  she  has  on  him." 


CHAPTER  II 

DIANA  THE  HUNTRESS 

flTo  Lady  Diana  Sartoris,  "the  cleanest 
sportswoman  in  all  England" — the  orators 
of  the  hunt  breakfasts  of  the  Beverley 
Hounds  would  have  it  so — a  fence  was 
merely  an  obstacle.  And  so  after  this  morn- 
ing with  the  Beverley  pack,  Lady  "Di"  on 
her  return  to  the  kennels  of  her  grandfather, 
the  Marquis  of  Beverley,  found  a  defiant 
pleasure  in  putting  her  hunter  over  every 
such  obstacle.  It  was  to  this  delight  of 
hers,  therefore,  that  a  little  later  in  the  day 
the  unknown  artist  owed  his  damaged  wrist. 
Though  it  was  one  of  those  perfect  York- 
shire mornings,  when  ( rural  England  seems 
made  for  the  sportsman,  Lady  Diana's  gal- 
lop at  the  heels  of  the  pack  had  not  been  al- 
together of  pleasure. 

27 


THE  WHIP 


To  begin  with,  her  grandfather,  the  pom- 
pous and  morally  bombastic  Marquis  of 
Beverley,  had  been  in  no  good  humor.  Al- 
though Falconhurst,  the  most  secluded  and 
retired  of  the  several  country  seats  of  the 
family,  was  filled  with  the  members  of  a 
house  party  specially  invited  for  Lady 
Diana  Sartoris'  benefit,  Beverley  had  care- 
fully warned  the  guests  away  from  the 
Downs,  and  indeed  had  sent  all  of  them  otter 
hunting  with  Captain  Greville  Sartoris, 
Lady  Diana's  cousin. 

"And  otter  hunting  of  all  sports  in  the 
world!"  Lady  Diana  had  breathed  sar- 
castically to  her  maid.  "One  might  quite 
as  well  hunt  a  mouse  as  an  otter,  you 
know." 

The  reason  Lady  Diana  knew,  of  course. 
The  Whip,  the  newest  racer  in  the  great 
stables  of  Beverley,  was  being  exercised  on 
the  Downs  that  morning  and  although  this 
expected  successor  to  the  Newmarket  win- 

28 


DIANA  THE  HUNTRESS 

ners,  Silver  Cloud,  Falconhurst,  and  Bever- 
ley's  Hope,  had  not  had  her  trial  and  was 
not  likely  to  have  for  some  time,  the  racing 
Marquis  was  determined  that  no  strange 
eyes  should  learn  anything  of  the  speed  pet 
of  his  declining  years. 

Stable  secrets  had  been  leaking  of  late  in 
regard  to  some  of  the  others  in  the  string,  but 
none  should  escape  respecting  the  Whip. 

This  prohibition  had  extended  to  Lady 
Diana  herself.  It  was  not  that  through  her 
there  was  danger  of  the  betting  ring  getting 
advance  information,  but  the  young  girl 
who  shared  almost  equally  in  Beverley's 
affection  for  the  Whip  could  not  have  been 
with  the  promising  filly  and  her  stable 
mates  without  being  upon  the  back  of  the 
speediest. 

For  the  girl  rode  the  Whip  or  any  of  the 
other  racers  in  the  Beverley  stables,  as 
Diana  of  old  hunted,  with  divine  inspira- 
tion. 

29 


THE  WHIP 


"But  the  little  filly's  growing  up — or 
rather  my  granddaughter  Lady  Diana,  is 
growing  up,"  the  Marquis  had  said  more 
than  once,  "and  a  filly  isn't  a  colt,  any  more 
• — rather  a  young  woman  of  position  and 
rank  isn't  a  girl,  and  she  really  can't  ride 
with  the  lads  of  my  stable." 

So  Lady  Diana,  in  the  warm  rebellion  of 
youth,  at  the  first  trammeling  appearance  of 
that  convention  which  ultimately  molds  us 
all  until  we  lose  our  little  distinguishing 
essence  and  become  as  so  many  peas,  was  ir- 
ritated by  this  abrupt  separation  from  the 
things  of  her  childhood. 

Hence  this  finely  strung,  perhaps  ordi- 
narily too  emotionless,  young  Englishwoman 
took  the  highest  and  roughest  of  the  ob- 
stacles in  her  course  as  she  followed  in  the 
wake  of  the  Beverley  hounds.  For  the 
hounds  were  not  the  features  of  a  hunt,  but 
merely  out  on  one  of  their  exercising  expe- 
ditions, when  to  "keep  their  scent  in"  they 


DIANA  THE  HUNTRESS 

were  permitted  to  range  for  trails  under  the 
guidance  of  whips. 

One  of  the  obstacles  which  Lady  Diana 
took  that  morning  was  a  stone  fence  that  sep- 
arated the  lands  of  Falconhurst  from  the 
property  of  the  Earl  of  Brancaster,  in  the 
midst  of  which  stood  the  old  stone  tower, 
Rievers.  As  her  hunter  cleared  the  fencing 
cleanly  and  for  a  moment  trespassed  up- 
on the  lands  of  one  regarded  by  the  simple 
folk  of  Yorkshire  as  "the  wicked  earl,"  the 
girl  looked  toward  the  rocky  heights  accen- 
tuated by  the  feudal  tower,  continuing  to  the 
eye  the  long  upward  ascent  of  stone. 

To  her  mood  of  the  moment,  while  Rie- 
vers appeared  less  barren  and  more  the 
abode  of  a  human  being,  still  there  was  the 
sinister  atmosphere  of  a  place  of  ill  omen, 
which  was  not  decreased  by  an  open  window 
and  the  movement  of  a  hanging  at  one  of  the 
casements  in  the  more  modern  part  of  the 
structure. 


THE  WHIP 


Even  with  the  evidences  of  a  home  life 
about  the  tower — which  there  were  not — 
the  place  would  have  worn  its  air  of  sullen 
tragedy,  its  seeming  appearance  of  a  center 
radiating  unwholesome  forces. 

Then  as  she  cantered  along  over  a  level 
expanse  skirting  the  eminence  upon  which 
Rievers  stood,  and  cast  a  glance  upward  oc- 
casionally, Lady  Diana  thought  of  what  her 
grandfather  had  told  her  when  she  was  a 
child.  It  was  shortly  after  the  death  in  the 
service  of  her  father,  and  the  death  of  his 
comrade,  Robert,  the  Earl  of  Brancaster,  in 
the  same  Indian  engagement.  Her  father 
and  Brancaster,  sire  of  the  present  Bran- 
caster,  had  planned  that  the  little  Lady 
Diana  and  the  young  Hubert  should  unite 
the  fortunes  and  lands  of  the  two  almost 
princely  houses.  But  her  father  had  been 
killed  and  his  father,  too. 

The  young  Earl,  without  the  repressing 
authority  of  a  parent,  had  begun  life  as  a  boy 

32 


with  too  much  money  and  no  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility. His  mother  had  died  soon 
after  he  was  born.  He  had  not  been  a  bad- 
natured  lad,  but  as  a  little  boy  he  had  been 
precocious.  What,  under  proper  training, 
would  have  been  clean,  clear,  pure  sports- 
manship as  thorough  as  that  of  Lady  Diana 
herself,  became  in  him  a  mere  gaming  spirit. 
He  gambled  with  nice  observance  of  eti- 
quette and  of  honor  but  still  he  defied 
chance.  As  a  result  he  at  last  found  him- 
self in  the  hands  of  the  money  lenders  and 
what  part  of  Rievers  that  wasn't  entailed 
was  mortgaged. 

There  were  women,  too,  in  this  young 
man's  life,  but  of  these  Lady  Diana  knew 
nothing.  But  though  they  came  and  went, 
they  never  seemed  to  have  penetrated  to  the 
core  of  the  young  Hubert  to  infect  him  with 
the  virus  of  diseased  imagination.  The  boy 
seemed  asleep  and  too  good  natured  to  put 
his  house  in  order.  His  friends  predicted 

33 


THE  WHIP 


that  if  he  ever  really  aroused  himself  he 
would  rid  himself  of  his  questionable  ac- 
quaintances effectively,  cleanly  and  finally. 

Dismissing  the  supposedly  dissolute, 
young  belted  Earl  from  her  thoughts,  Lady 
Diana  came  to  the  last  fence  which  sepa- 
rated her  from  the  glen  in  which  the  Falcon- 
hurst  kennels  and  stables  stood.  From  the 
level  plateau  immediately  above  the  glen 
there  floated  down  to  her  the  shouts  of  the 
lads  on  the  backs  of  the  prides  of  the  Mar- 
quis's stables.  Beverley  had  held  the  lads 
in  stern  repression;  but  the  stimulating  air, 
the  vast  tonic  of  nervous  horseflesh  beneath 
their  knees  and  the  thrill  of  mad  motion 
could  not  keep  the  youngsters  entirely  silent. 

The  fine  fire  of  it  all  kindled  Lady  Diana. 
In  the  light  of  her  girlhood  experiences 
only  such  sounds  as  came  to  her  from  the 
Downs  were  needed  to  create  vividly  in  her 
imagination  active  pictures  of  the  scenes 
34 


DIANA  THE  HUNTRESS 

above  her.     She   knew  it.     She   loved  it 
She  wanted  to  be  again  a  part  of  it. 

In  revolt  at  the  things  that  she  dimly 
sensed  as  governors  of  her  whole  after  life, 
she  had  put  spur  to  her  horse  and  sent  him 
straight  at  the  high  fence,  beyond  which 
waited  the  unknown, — in  the  figure  of  one 
who  was  to  play  a  larger  part  in  Lady 
Diana's  future  than  either  could  have  ever 
dreamed. 


35! 


CHAPTER  III 

NO  TRESPASSERS 

WHEN  the  imperious  person  with  the  dark 
hair  had  borne  away  her  somewhat  unen- 
thusiastic  swain,  thoughts  of  the  two  were 
out  of  the  mind  of  Lady  Diana  before  she 
had  formulated  any  conscious  conclusions, 
for  her  grandfather's  whole  string  was  now 
led  into  the  yard  of  the  stables.  Though 
Tom  Lambert,  the  trainer  of  the  horses,  was 
nominally  in  charge  of  all  of  the  animals, 
he  paid  no  attention  to  any  save  the  nervous, 
skittish  creature  covered  with  her  horse 
"clothing"  and  wearing  over  it  all  a  horse 
rug.  Lambert  in  person  was  leading  her. 

"Ah!  Tom,  there  you  are — why — what 
are  you  leading  the  Whip  for?"  Lady 
Diana  exclaimed  as  she  walked  up  to  the 
trainer. 

36 


NO  TRESPASSERS 


"Motor    car,    my    lady!"    Lambert    ex- 
plained, taking  off  his  hat.     "She  don't  like 


'em." 


Lady  Diana  smiled. 

"She's  not  alone,  Tom,"  she  said. 

"No,  my  lady,  but  'owever  you  'ates  'em, 
you  can't  eat  'em." 

"And  I  shouldn't  try,"  she  laughed. 

"She  would,  my  lady!"  the  trainer  con- 
tinued, pointing  to  the  horse.  "The  fitter 
she  gets,  the  worse  she  gets.  I  believe  she'd 
charge  a  battery  an'  eat  the  guns!" 

"Nonsense!"  Lady  Diana  replied,  as  she 
went  up  to  the  mare  and  patted  her  nose. 
"Nonsense !  It's  only  because  you  don't  un- 
derstand her.  She's  a  dear — isn't  she, 
Harry?"  And  she  looked  up  appealingly 
to  the  jockey  who  was  stuck  to  the  saddle  as 
if  he  had  grown  there. 

"With  you,  my  lady,"  the  boy  answered. 
"And  she's  all  right  with  me.  But  a 

37 


THE  WHIP 


stranger  would  have  a  better  time  trying  to 
tackle  a  tiger." 

The  girl  stroked  the  Whip's  neck  lov- 
ingly. 

"They'll  find  her  a  lion  when  they  tackle 
her  on  the  course — the  first  time  she  runs — > 
won't  they,  Tom?"  She  turned  to  Lambert 
once  more. 

"Yes,  my  lady."  Then,  to  the  jockey— 
"Walk  her  on,  Harry — mustn't  get  cold. 
This  way!  The  paddock  gate's  open — take 
the  rein,  now  we're  off  the  road." 

As  Harry  Anson,  the  Whip's  jockey, 
turned  his  prancing  mount  toward  the 
stables,  Lambert  held  up  a  warning  hand  in 
a  gesture  of  silence  to  his  young  mistress. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Tom?"  Lady  Diana 
exclaimed. 

"The  Markis  won't  let  me  try  'er  yet, 
my  lady,  but  I  believe  the  Whip's  about  the 
best  mare  as  ever  looked  through  a 
bridle." 

38 


NO  TRESPASSERS 


"I  don't  care  what  she  looks  through, 
(Tom,  as  long  as  she  is  the  best." 

Lambert  shook  his  head  in  a  pessimistic 
fashion. 

"But  the  very  best  ship  is  no  good  with- 
out the  man  at  the  wheel."  The  trainer 
looked  gloomily  at  the  young  girl. 

"Surely  Harry  is  good  enough?"  There 
was  a  world  of  surprise  in  her  eager  eyes. 

"When  he's  himself,"  was  Lambert's 
laconic  answer. 

"Who  else  is  he?"  Lady  Diana  asked,  with 
a  slight  frown  on  her  pretty,  puzzled  face. 

"Don't  know,  my  lady — but  'e's  a  'ang- 
dog,  mournful  sort  o'  beggar  at  times,  with 
no  spirits  and  no  lip — not  a  bit  like  our 
Harry." 

Lady  Di  laughed  blithely.  There  was  a 
world  of  relief  in  her  musical  voice  as  she 
exclaimed : 

"Sounds  a  bit  like  our  Harry  in  love!" 
"No,  my  lady  1"  Lambert  said.     And  then, 
39 


THE  WHIP 


in  a  confidential  tone  he  continued — "I  did 
think  at  one  time,  as  he  favored  the  second 
kitchen  maid,  but  she  was  only  a  flash  in  the 
pan.  It's  worse  than  that." 

Lady  Diana  was  not  averse  to  a  bit  of 
gossip  with  Tom  Lambert,  who  had  been  her 
grandfather's  trainer  for  almost  thirty 
years. 

"Not  love?  Not  money — surely?"  She 
was  determined  that  the  trainer  should  be 
more  explicit. 

"Shouldn't  have  thought  it,  my  lady — he's 
that  simple — " 

"What  else  can  he  have  on  his  mind  then, 
Tom?" 

Lambert  threw  up  his  hands  in  despair. 

"  'Anged  if  I  know,  my  lady,"  he  replied. 
"But  I  don't  want  it  on  the  Whip's  back. 
Light  heart  makes  light  weight.  But  a 
bally  boy  with  the  blues  thinks  he's  riding 


a  'earse  'orse." 


40 


NO  TRESPASSERS 


"Oh!  But  Harry  hasn't  ridden  like  that 
yet!"  she  protested. 

aNo,  my  lady,  not  quite,"  Lambert  ad- 
mitted, "only — you  see — well,  then,  if  any- 
thing did  go  wrong  with  Harry,  who  else 
could  ride  our  crack?" 

"Tom!"  Lady  Diana  exclaimed,  with  an 
unmistakable  note  of  decision  ringing  clear 
in  her  voice,  "we  must  find  out  what's  the 
matter." 

"Quietly,  my  lady — I  wouldn't  speak  to 
the  Markis  about  it  just  now.  He's  a  bit 
irritable." 

A  troubled  look  crossed  Lady  Diana's 
pretty  face. 

"Yes — I've  noticed  it.  What's  wrong?" 
And  she  turned  a  searching  gaze  on  the 
trainer's  round  and  ruddy  countenance. 

Tom  shook  his  head  ominously.  Then  he 
glanced  hurriedly  around  to  see  that  there 
were  no  eavesdroppers  about. 


THE  WHIP 


"Stable  mouse  has  been  squeaking,"  he  ex- 
plained in  a  low  voice. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Lady  Diana 
asked  in  a  tone  of  exasperation.  Her  pa- 
tience was  becoming  exhausted  at  Lam- 
bert's mysterious  hints  and  peculiar  man- 
ner. 

"Stable  secrets  getting  out,  my  lady — * 
that's  what  I  mean,  to  put  it  plain."  Tom's 
fat  face  was  worried  into  puckers. 

"What!  again?  But  I  don't  know  why 
grandfather  minds.  He  only  races  for  the 
love  of  it.  But  it  is  strange." 

"It  is,  my  lady,"  Lambert  hastened  to  say, 
in  much  excitement.  "Licks  me  'ollow! 
Gives  his  lordship  touts  on  the  brain!  Do 
'arf  our  work  before  daylight  and  if  'e  sees 
a  bush  waggle  'e  sends  the  'orses  'ome — and 
still  if  we've  anything  worth  backing  some- 
body always  knows.  It's  on  'is  nerves,  my 
lady.  Why,  the  other  morning  he  caught 
poor  old  Mother  Griffiths  near  the  Downs 

42 


NO  TRESPASSERS 


picking  mushrooms — ninety  in  the  shade  she 
is  and  blind  as  a  kitten — but  he  swore  if  she 
did  it  again  blest  if  he  wouldn't  raise  her 
rent!  And  then  cussed  at  'er  just  as  if  'e  was 
talking  to  a  bloomin'  telephone!  B'lieve 
he  thinks  there's  touts  in  the  stable  chimbley 
— touts  in  the  corn-bin — touts  down  the  rab- 
bit-'oles — an'  touts  a  'overing  over'ead  in 
'eavenly  aeroplanes  whenever  the  'orses  so 
much  as  goes  out  for  a  walk.  It's  toutitis, 
my  lady,  and  I'm  catching  it  myself — a  'orri- 
ble  illness,  which  I  'ave  known  drive  even 
married  men  to  drink!" 

Lady  Diana  burst  into  peals  of  silvery 
laughter. 

"As  bad  as  that!"  she  cried.  "Well,  Tom, 
we  must  do  our  best  to  cure  my  grandfather 
at  once." 

"Yes,  my  lady,"  Tom  replied.  "Ah !  here 
he  is  now!" 

As  Lambert  spoke,  Lady  Diana's  grand- 
father, the  Marquis  of  Beverley,  came  rid- 
43 


THE  WHIP 


ing  into  the  yard  in  a  village  cart,  driven  by 
the  Honorable  Mrs.  Beamish,  the  middle- 
aged,  distant  cousin  of  Lady  Diana,  and  her 
companion. 

The  Marquis  looked  angrily  up  the  road 
along  which  the  strange  automobile  had 
borne  away  the  artist  and  his  insistent  com- 
panion. 

"Di!  Dil"  the  Marquis  called,  with  some 
heat. 

"Yes,  dear?"  The  caress  in  Lady 
Diana's  answer  was  unmistakable.  She 
helped  the  fine  looking,  elderly  man  out  of 
the  cart,  as  he  asked,  with  impatience:— 

"Who  are  those  people  in  that  confounded 
motor  thing?" 

"Strangers,  dear — at  least,  to  me!"  she  re- 
plied. 

"They  looked  like  a  man  and  a  woman," 
her  grandfather  sputtered. 

"Yes,  I  thought  so  too,"  she  answered  teas- 
ingly. 

44 


NO  TRESPASSERS 


"Don't  be  silly,  Di !  What  were  they  do- 
ing?" 

"I  think  she  came  to  pick  him  up.  He  is 
an  artist.  I  have  seen  him  several  times — 
sketching." 

"Here?"  And  the  Marquis'  face  grew  a 
bit  red. 

"Yes— by  the  Bourne." 

"Well,  I  won't  have  it!"  he  exploded. 
"You  hear  me?  Give  orders,  Tom — for  all 
we  know  the  feller's  a  tout — confounded 
tout  of  the  worst  possible  description !" 

"He  does  not  look  it,"  Lady  Diana  said, 
quietly. 

"They  never  do,"  the  Marquis  interposed, 
firmly.  "Remember  that  chap  who  came 
here  last  year — playin'  the  photographer?" 

Mrs.  Beamish  nodded  vigorously  to  her 
esteemed  relative. 

"Yes,  there  you  are,"  she  put  in.  "An- 
other artist — " 

"Quite  so,"  said  the  Marquis,  finding  an 
45 


THE  WHIP 


appreciative  audience.  "Actually  snapping 
the  string  at  exercise — then  bringin'  an  ac- 
tion against  me  for  assault  and  battery!" 

"After  you  put  him  under  the  stable 
pump,  Lord  Beverley,"  the  Honorable  Mrs. 
Beamish  added,  with  emphasis. 

"And  broke  his  camera  over  his  head  and 
nearly  broke  his  neck!"  Lady  Diana 
laughed,  unable  to  restrain  her  amusement 

"Well !  what  did  he  expect?"  the  Marquis 
asked,  with  some  show  of  surprise. 

Tom  Lambert  came  loyally  to  the  sup- 
port of  his  master. 

"Quite  right,  my  lord!  No  good  having 
a  dark  horse  if  all  the  world  knows  it!" 

"And  they  shan't  know  till  the  Two  Thou- 
sand's over — and  we've  won  it!"  The  Mar- 
quis' heart  was  set  on  winning  the  classic 
that  took  its  name  from  the  two  thousand 
guineas  of  prize  money  that  it  offered  an- 
nually to  the  winner. 

"Rather!  But — er — we — don't  know  as 
46 


NO  TRESPASSERS 


we  shall  for  sure  till  we  try  the  mare,  my 
lord.  I  do  wish,  sir,  that  you'd  let  us  see 
what  she  can  do  against  a  good  'un."  Lam- 
bert hung  expectantly  on  the  Marquis' 
words. 

"Plenty  of  time  for  that,  Tom — we  don't 
want  to  leave  the  race  on  the  trial  ground 
— but  we'll  have  no  touts  or  trespassers  on 
any  ground."  That  the  Marquis  of  Bever- 
ley  was  accustomed  to  having  his  own  way 
in  the  world  was  unmistakable. 

"Well,  Grand-dad,  you  needn't  trouble 
about  this  trespasser.  I  know  he's  an  ar- 
tist." Lady  Diana  put  her  hand  lovingly 
upon  her  grandfather's  arm.  The  proud 
old  gentleman's  face  lit  up  as  he  looked  down 
at  her  fondly  and  he  said,  gently — 

"My  dear,  he  wouldn't  show  his  hand  to 
you." 

"He's  shown  me  his  sketch  book,  Grand- 
father." 

"You've  talked  to  him,  then,  Di?" 
47 


THE  WHIP 


"Several  times— 

"My  dear,  what  about?"  he  expostu- 
lated. 

"About  art — scenery — the  hounds — "  she 
explained. 

"But  not  about  the  'orses,  my  lady?"  Lam- 
bert interrupted. 

"We  didn't  mention  the  horses!" 

Mrs.  Beamish  cast  a  significant  look  at 
Lambert  and  remarked,  sarcastically — 

"What  a  dull  conversation!" 

The  Marquis  of  Beverley  disregarded 
Mrs.  Beamish's  sarcasm,  and  he  patted  Lady 
Diana's  hand  as  he  said  gently — 

"Well,  don't  do  it  again,  dear,  please.  I 
don't  like  strangers — especially  about  the 
horses." 

"You  don't  like  anyone  near  them,  Grand- 
father. We've  got  a  house  full  of  friends, 
but  you  send  them  all  away  to  hunt  otters 
with  Greville  and  practically  warn  them  off 
the  Downs."  Lady  Diana's  hospitable  soul 

48 


NO  TRESPASSERS 


had  often  been  hurt  by  her  Grandfather's 
high-handed  treatment  of  guests. 

"Seems  a  bit  churlish  I  dare  say,  Di, — 
but  I  race  for  myself,  not  the  crowd.  Don't 
forget  our  old  saying  'A  Yorkshireman's 
house  is  his  friend's,  but  a  Yorkshireman's 
horse  is  his  own.'  I'll  never  let  our  horses 
be  turned  into  public  betting  machines  if 
I  can  help  it — so  no  more  talks  with  stran- 
gers, Di,  you  understand  me."  And  with  a 
gesture  of  finality  the  strong-willed  old  gen- 
tleman drew  Lady  Diana  with  him  toward 
the  stables. 

Tom  Lambert  turned  to  Mrs.  Beamish 
with  a  most  confidential  manner. 

"And  a  good  thing,  too,  if  I  may  say  so, 
Mrs.  B.,"  he  remarked. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  know  how  free  Lady  Di  is,"  Lam- 
bert explained.  "She'll  pass  the  time  o'  day 
with  anyone — of  course  at  her  age  she  don't 
know  no  better." 

49 


THE  WHIP 


"I  know  she  knows  no  worse,"  Mrs.  Bea- 
mish retorted  with  a  slight  rasp  in  her  voice. 

"But  the  other  party  may,"  said  the 
trainer,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Lambert!" 

"Well,  I  say  artists  ain't  no  class  to  come 
hanging  round  after  Lady  Di,"  Tom  has- 
tened to  add. 

"There  are  artists  and  artists— 

"That's  my  meaning,  Mrs.  B. — p'raps 
this  one's  worse  than  usual." 

"Thank  goodness  I  have  a  pure  mind," 
was  Mrs.  Beamish's  acid  retort. 

The  insinuation  wasted  itself  upon  Tom 
Lambert's  sensibilities,  which  were  not  ex- 
actly of  the  aesthetic  variety. 

"I  wonder  what  those  two  were  talking 
about,"  he  said,  thoughtfully. 

"What  two?"  Mrs.  Beamish  inquired. 

"Why,  Lady  Di  and  that  artist  chap,  of 
course — if  he  didn't  come  here  after  the 
horses — what  did  he  come  after?" 

50 


NO  TRESPASSERS 


"Tom  Lambert — I'm  afraid  you've  got  a 
suspicious  mind,"  Mrs.  Beamish  informed 
him. 

"Well,  I  won't  conceal  from  you,  Mrs.  B., 
that  a  racing  stable  ain't  a  place  that  in- 
spires you  with  much  confidence  in  human 
nature,  and  when  I  hear  of  a  young  man 
talking  to  a  young  woman — and  she  is  a 
young  woman — " 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,  Tom — " 

"I  don't — I  put  two  and  two  together — " 

"When  there's  only  one  and  one — "  Mrs. 
Beamish  interposed  with  a  somewhat  vicious 
emphasis. 

"My  experience  teaches  me — "  Lambert 
continued,  ignoring  the  thrust. 

"If  I  were  you,  Tom  Lambert,  I  should 
feel  a  bit  delicate  about  referring  to  my  ex- 
perience." And  Mrs.  Beamish  turned  her 
back  upon  the  now  discomfited  Lambert. 

"I've  seen  you,"  she  continued,  "talking 
with  a  certain  young  woman." 


THE  WHIP 


"What  young  woman?"  asked  Tom,  with 
mouth  open  in  astonishment. 

"Myrtle  Anson — I've  seen  you!" 

"Well,  I  like  that!"  Lambert  gasped. 

"It  looked  it!  Catch  you  doing  it  if  you 
didn't — trust  a  man — not  that  I  do — " 

"Don't  you  trust  me — Mrs.  B.,  after  all 
these  years?"  Tom's  eyes,  as  well  as  his 
yoice,  spoke  endless  devotion. 

"Tom  Lambert,  I  won't  conceal  from  you 
that  a  man  about  a  racing  stable  is  not  one 
who  inspires  me  with  unlimited  confidence." 

It  was  quite  apparent  that  the  temperature 
in  Mrs.  Beamish's  vicinity  was  rapidly  ap- 
proaching the  freezing  point. 

"Well,  I'm  blest!"  Lambert  remon- 
strated. "Just  because  I  had  a  few  words 
with  the  girl  to  ask  her  what's  the  matter 
with  young  Harry." 

"H'm!  I  hope  Old  Harry  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it!" 

52 


NO  TRESPASSERS 


"Betty!"  And  Tom  moved  nearer  to  the 
object  of  his  affection. 

"Mrs.  Beamish,  if  you  please — "  said  the 
outraged  lady  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"Mrs.  Beamish — honorable  madam — 
you're  jealous!"  the  trainer  exclaimed,  de- 
lighted that  it  was  so. 

"Of  you?  I?  Never!"  returned  the 
flame  of  his  youth. 

"Not  now,  perhaps,"  he  returned,  tempo- 
rizing. "But  in  the  old  days  don't  you  re- 
member how  wild  you  was  with  me — about 
little  Susie  Dobbs — when  you  and  me  was 
keeping  company — " 

"We  never  kept  company,"  returned  the 
Hon.  Mrs.  Beamish,  furious. 

"Well,  if  we  didn't,  then  we  ought  to  have 
kept  company,"  answered  the  literal  Tom, 
"with  me  walking  out  with  you  and  kissing 
you." 

"Once  only,  and  by  accident,"  cut  in  the 
53 


elderly  flame  of  days  when  the  Beverley  sta- 
bles were  smaller. 

"Well,  I  suppose  a  collision's  an  accident, 
but  I  liked  it  and  so  did  you,"  said  Lam- 
bert. 

"I  didn't,"  denied  Mrs.  Beamish. 

"You  and  I  were  happy,"  went  on  the 
Whip's  master,  "till  Beamish  came  along 
and  you  got  taken  with  him.  I  can't  forget 
you,  Betty,  and  what  might  have  hap- 
pened. Don't  you  ever  remember,  Betty, 
before  you  was  a  great  lady?" 

The  air  of  the  woman  toward  Tom  was 
kinder  that  it  had  been  for  some  time. 

"I'm  not  a  great  lady,  Tom,"  she  said 
gently,  for  one  of  her  vigorous  personality. 
"I'm  a  poor  relation,  though  Lord  Beverley 
doesn't  treat  me  like  one — but  I  am!  I'm 
lady  Di's  companion  and  distant  cousin  by 
marriage.  I'm  a  sort  of  female  major-domo 
of  the  household — and  I'm  very  happy, 
Tom.  I'm  not  a  snob,  but  I've  got  to  re- 

54 


NO  TRESPASSERS 


member  that  I'm  the  Honorable  Mrs. 
Beamish — that  I'm  Lord  Beverley's  cousin 
by  marriage — that  he  looks  upon  me  as  one 
of  the  family — that  I  mustn't  disgrace  it  by 
-by—" 

"Thinking  of  the  likes  of  me,"  said  Tom 
sadly.  "All  you  think  of  is  that  you've  mar- 
ried into  a  noble  family — not  that  you  came 
out  of — of — a — h'm — " 

"Out  of  a  shop.  Oh,  you  needn't  mind 
saying  it.  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it." 

"Why  should  you  be?"  went  on  Lambert. 
"Ah,  they  don't  make  shops  like  that  nowa- 
days. I  can  see  it  now  as  if  it  was  yester- 
day, and  smell  it.  And  what  apples  your 
mother  did  sell.  Many's  the  time  she's  give 
me  one  when  I  was  a  nipper.  Lord!  I 
wish  Captain  Beamish  had  never  been 
quartered  in  our  town — never  set  eyes  on 
you." 

"I  made  him  a  good  wife,  Tom,"  said 
Betty,  a  shade  of  regret  in  her  voice. 

55 


THE  WHIP 


"I'll  be  bound  you  did!  But  you'd  have 
made  me  a  better,  if  only  you  hadn't  been 
educated  above  your  station.  I  mean  above 
mine.  Ain't  it  no  good  my  hoping,  Betty?" 

A  trifle  sadly  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Beamish 
smiled  as  she  said,  with  an  air  meant  to  be 
final: 

"No  good,  Tom!  If  ever  I  feel  weak  I 
take  down  the  Peerage  and  look  up  Beverley 
— Geoffrey  Vandeleur  Delacroix  George 
Jocelyn,  tenth  Marquis  of  —  and  it 
strengthens  me  to  do  my  duty  in  that  station 
of  life." 

"To  which  it  did  not  please  God  to  call 
you,"  supplemented  Tom  Lambert  decis- 
ively when  she  hesitated. 

Realizing  the  futility  of  further  argu- 
ment, Mrs.  Beamish  made  her  way  toward 
the  great  house,  leaving  poor  Tom  to  extract 
such  comfort  as  he  could  from  his  beloved 
horses. 

56 


A  MOUSE  IN  THE  STABLE 

ALL  the  morning  Capt.  Greville  Sartoris,  the 
cousin  of  Lady  Diana,  and  the  heir  to  the 
Beverley  title,  though  the  fortune  would  go 
to  the  Marquis's  granddaughter,  had  led  the 
greater  portion  of  the  house  party  in  an  otter 
hunt. 

Now,  with  the  hounds  that  they  had  taken 
for  their  rather  tame  hunt  in  full  cry,  they 
were  pursuing  a  large  she-otter  the  dogs  had 
started.  Through  the  open  the  little  crea- 
ture fled,  followed  by  the  yelping  pack — not 
that,  of  course,  with  which  Lady  Diana  had 
run — and  the  party  of  men  and  women  on 
foot  with  their  savage  otter  spears. 

The  animal  had  found  its  courses  along 
the  little  stream  no  longer  in  their  accus- 
tomed solitude,  so  now  she  seemed  to  feel 

57 


THE  WHIP 


that  there  would  be  safety  in  going  toward 
the  spots  never  deserted. 

In  any  event  she  broke  cover  completely 
and  made  for  the  kennels  and  stables,  still, 
however,  keeping  close  to  the  east  bank  of 
the  Bourne. 

Across  the  stable  yard  the  small  pursued 
object  scurried  in  an  effort  to  get  far  enough 
away  to  make  a  dive  into  a  deep  pool  there. 
Over  the  retaining  walls  and  other  obstacles 
in  their  path  leaped  the  men  of  the  party. 
Sartoris  was  first,  but  after  he  had  made 
one  frenzied  lunge  with  his  spear  he  real- 
ized that  the  otter  had  escaped. 

With  an  exclamation  of  anger  he  buried 
his  spear  in  the  ground,  and  then  looked  up 
to  find  the  amused  but  scornful  eyes  of  his 
cousin  upon  him. 

"Don't,  Greville,  it's  horrible,"  the  girl 
exclaimed,  while  her  grandfather  was  show- 
ing the  fox  hounds  and  some  of  his  famous 
racing  string  to  the  visitors. 

58 


A  MOUSE  IN  THE  STABLE 

"What  is?"  Sartoris  asked,  not  realizing 
that  the  girl  was  condemning  a  pastime  that 
he  regarded  as  sport. 

''Otter  killing — like  that — otter  hunt- 
ing," she  answered. 

"But  you  like  fox  hunting?"  went  on  Sar- 
toris in  the  bland  tones  of  surprise  of  the 
Englishman  of  his  wiry  type,  with  his  wisp 
of  a  mustache  and  his  weak  appearing  fig- 
ure, which  hid  considerable  skilled  strength. 
"You  like  to  see  a  draggled,  beaten  fox  torn 
to  pieces  alive." 

"No,  I  don't,"  interrupted  the  girl. 

"But  it's  done,"  went  on  the  man. 

"I  know,"  said  the  girl.  "That's  why  if 
I  were  a  man  I'd  ride  nothing  but  steeple- 
chases. I  love  a  run  best  when  the  fox  gets 
clean  away.  I  love  a  race  with  neither 
whip  nor  spur!  I  love  sport — and  in  the 
best  sport  there's  no  pain!" 

It  was  for  such  speeches  as  that — and 
actions,  too — that  they  called  Lady  Di- 


THE  WHIP 


ana  "the  cleanest  sportswoman  in  all  Eng- 
land." 

"Not  if  you're  beaten?"  questioned  the 
cousin. 

"Not  if  you  played  fair,"  said  the  girl. 

Her  cousin  was  moved  to  reveal — almost 
unconsciously — some  of  that  queer  sporting 
philosophy  which  sustained  him  in  the  some- 
what questionable  practices  which  were  al- 
ready being  commented  upon  in  his  London 
clubs. 

"I  confess  I  have  a  weakness  for  win- 
ning," he  said  with  an  air  of  frankness. 
"Whatever  the  odds  in  your  favor,  there  is 
a  certain  pleasure  in  pursuit — in  getting 
home." 

As  to  give  emphasis  to  his  words,  he  drove 
the  head  of  his  spear  into  the  ground.  He 
raised  his  eyes  and,  with  a  start,  found 
Myrtle  Anson,  the  young  sister  of  Harry 
Anson,  the  Whip's  jockey,  near  him.  She 

60 


A  MOUSE  IN  THE  STABLE 

had  come  quietly  into  the  yard  and,  as  if 
moved  by  an  impulse  of  her  budding  wom- 
an's heart  that  she  could  not  entirely  con- 
trol, had  gone  straight  toward  Sartoris. 
Lady  Diana  had  not  seen  the  girl,  for  the 
back  of  the  Marquis's  granddaughter  was 
turned  to  this  more  humble  young  woman. 

For  a  moment  Sartoris  regarded  the  girl, 
then  with  a  slight  move  of  his  shoulders  he 
turned  away.  Myrtle  Anson,  seemingly  cut 
to  the  heart,  sank  on  a  rock  at  the  edge  of 
the  stream  and  continued  to  watch  him  with 
eyes  of  love. 

This  little  bit  of  by-play  had  consumed 
but  a  moment,  and  while  it  was  taking  place 
and  Sartoris  was  still  eyeing  the  sister  of  the 
jockey,  Lady  Diana  was  replying  to  his  last 
observation: 

"There's  pleasure  in  getting  home?  On 
a  weak  thing  that  can't  defend  itself — or 
strike  back?" 

61 


THE  WHIP 


Her  words  seemed  to  the  sick  conscience 
of  Sartoris  to  hold  a  double  entendre,  and 
he  looked  sharply  at  his  cousin. 

"Eh?"  he  exclaimed,  suspiciously  and  ex- 
pectantly. 

But  Lady  Diana,  who  had  noticed  noth- 
ing and  was  but  speaking  of  the  immediate 
subject  before  them,  went  on : 

"I  mean  a  weak  thing  like  an  otter.  In 
sport  there  must  be  a  fair  chance." 

It  was  with  genuine  relief  that  Sartoris 
answered: 

"I  know,  but  I  prefer  lowest  weight  in 
life's  handicap — a  shade  of  odds  in  my  fa- 
vor, when  I'm  trying  to  win.  But  you're 
a  girl  and  mix  sentiment  with  your  sport- 
ing." 

The  women  of  the  house  party  now 
claimed  the  attention  of  Lady  Diana  as  they 
called  upon  her  to  explain  the  points  of 
some  of  the  racers.  About  them  during 
this  time  the  anxious  Marquis  hovered. 

62 


A  MOUSE  IN  THE  STABLE 

He  had  ordered  the  Whip  put  in  a  locked 
box  stall,  and  not  even  the  most  charming 
entreaties  of  the  fairest  of  his  guests  could 
induce  him  to  unlock  the  door. 

With  a  furtive  glance  about  him,  Sar- 
toris  walked  toward  Myrtle  Anson  sitting 
like  a  lowly  muse  of  tragedy  by  the  Bourne. 
This  quick  glance  of  Sartoris  was  by  no 
means  a  precaution,  for  he  knew  that  the 
few  words  that  he  might  publicly  exchange 
with  the  pretty  sister  of  the  jockey  would 
not  cause  any  comment,  but  his  act  was  one 
of  instinct.  There  was  something  furtive 
and  almost  sinister  about  this  sportsman  who 
took  care  to  win  when  he  could  without 
causing  too  much  of  a  scandal,  and  his  rapid 
survey  of  the  position  of  his  equals  was  the 
tribute  to  his  own  caution. 

But  the  first  words  he  spoke  to  the  girl 
were  ordinary  enough.  He  disliked  "emo- 
tion and  all  that  sort  of  nonsense,  you  know," 
and  he  did  not  often  exhibit  it 

63 


THE  WHIP 


"Morning,  Miss  Anson.  Been  botaniz- 
ing again?"  he  asked,  lifting  his  hat  and 
pointing  to  a  leather  case  she  carried  slung 
over  her  shoulder. 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl  in  a  dull  monotone. 

"Up  on  the  Wold?"  he  asked,  lowering 
his  voice  with  that  cautious  instinct,  though 
there  was  no  one  to  hear  them. 

"How  I  could  see  the  Wold,"  said  the 
girl,  meaning  creeping  between  her  words. 

"With  glasses?"  he  persisted. 

For  answer  the  girl  showed  him  a  pair  of 
field  glasses  concealed  in  the  case. 

"Anything  worth  seeing?" 

Bitterly  she  replied: 

"No — opponent  Silver  Shoe — the  Rover 
and  the  Whip — a  striding  gallop,  but  noth- 
ing like  a  trial." 

There  was  that  in  her  voice  which  would 
have  told  an  expert  in  human  nature  that 
the  girl  despised  herself  for  what  she  was 

64 


A  MOUSE  IN  THE  STABLE 

doing,  but  that  she  could  not  resist  the  de- 
mands of  this  man. 

But  the  cousin  of  Lady  Diana  did  not 
honor  the  girl  with  the  slightest  concern  for 
her  feeling.  He  was  thinking  only  of  the 
horses  and  of  how  many  times  he  had  won 
handily  because  of  some  bit  of  stable  in- 
formation he  had  been  able  to  extract  from 
the  girl. 

"I  wonder  if  their  dark  horse  is  worth 
anything?"  he  went  on,  his  gambler's  sense 
playing  in  and  out  of  a  series  of  calcula- 
tions as  to  odds  and  weights.  "What  a  pile 
one  could  win  if  one  knew !  Twenty  to  one  I 
Look  here,  Myrtle,  you  can  pump  your 
brother,  if  you  like.  He  must  know." 

"He  won't  tell,"  said  the  girl,  almost  sul- 
lenly. 

The  tone  of  the  Captain  was  kinder,  now 
that  he  had  found  something  that  the  girl 
could  do  for  him. 

65; 


THE  WHIP 


"You  can  make  him,"  he  said. 

"I  can't,"  she  answered,  her  breast  rising 
and  falling.  "I  believe  he  suspects — " 

"You?" 

"You." 

"Me?"  exclaimed  Sartoris. 

There  was  self-loathing,  accusation  and 
defiance  of  all  the  world  in  the  girl's  face. 

"You  and  me,"  she  said  slowly,  but  almost 
savagely. 

But  if  he  felt  any  impending  danger  at 
her  words  Sartoris  did  not  show  it.  There 
was  almost  bantering  humor  in  his  face,  as 
the  girl  hurried  on  in  little  panting  gasps: 

"My  brother  used  to  tell  me  everything. 
When  he  told  me  stable  secrets  I  told  you 
— I  have  been  a  traitor  to  him — and  a  traitor 
to  them  all — I  have  betrayed  Lady  Di, 
whom  I  love — I  have  sold  out  Lord  Bever- 
ley,  who  gave  us  a  home  and  everything  we 
have  in  the  world — and  I  have  forgotten 
all  that  and  have  sold  him  out — sold  him  out 

66 


A  MOUSE  IN  THE  STABLE 

for  nothing  at  all — nothing  in  the  whole 
wide  world.  A  girl  only  does  that  for  one 
reason,  and  my  brother  knows  that." 

With  white  fury  Sartoris  turned  upon  her. 
For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  though  he  would 
hurl  at  her  the  heavy  spear  in  his  hand. 

"You've  told  him?"  he  demanded  sav- 
agely. 

Myrtle  faced  him  bravely,  but  in  a  mo- 
ment her  head  drooped. 

"No — I  haven't  turned  traitor  to  you, 
Greville,"  she  said  brokenly. 

Into  the  whole  manner  of  the  Captain 
there  came  a  great  change.  He  was  as  near 
to  pity  as  his  shallow  nature  ever  permitted 
as  he  said  fervently: 

"Of  course,  you  haven't,  little  Myrtle." 

Instantly  the  jockey's  sister  moved  closer 
to  him.  He  took  one  quick  step  backward 
and  his  tone  became  lighter  as  he  hurried 
on  to  bridge  the  gap  of  emotion: 

"But,   come,  now,   don't  talk  heroics — 


THE  WHIP 


about  traitors  and  things.  Beverley  never 
bets.  If  the  wide  world  knew  his  stable 
secrets  it  would  do  no  harm.  If  you  give 
me  a  tip  or  two — heaven  knows  I  want  it 
badly  enough — who's  hurt?" 

"I  am,"  said  the  girl,  much  of  her  resis- 
tance gone  because  of  his  few  kindly  words 
of  the  moment,  too  soon  passed.  "And  I 
shan't  do  it  again." 

"Nonsense!  You'll  tell  me  when  the 
Whip's  tried." 

"I  shan't  be  here  to  see." 

"No?" 

"No — I  can't  stay  here  much  longer,  I 
dare  not" 

"Nonsense,  where  will  you  go?" 

"Isn't  that  for  you  to  say?  Haven't  you 
promised?" 

Sartoris  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  then 
became  aware  that  Harry  Anson  was  stand- 
ing near  the  main  door  of  the  stables  with 
anxious,  speculative  eyes  upon  him.  He 

68 


A  MOUSE  IN  THE  STABLE 

left  Myrtle  and  strolled  toward  the  stable. 
His  eyes  for  a  moment  looked  keenly  into 
the  face  of  the  boy,  and  then,  with  a  sud- 
den, unwilling  movement  of  his  head,  he 
turned  aside,  unable,  despite  his  wonderful 
customary  self-control,  to  face  Myrtle's 
brother. 

But  Harry  Anson's  eyes  did  not  waver. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  ACCIDENT 

LORD  BEVERLEY  was  worried  over  something 
the  women  of  his  granddaughter's  house 
party  had  told  him.  They  had  described 
the  course  of  the  otter  hunt  and  this  descrip- 
tion had  displeased  him  exceedingly,  though 
he  was  at  much  pains  not  to  let  the  women 
see  it.  Accordingly,  he  went  straight  to 
Captain  Sartoris,  whom  he  instinctively  dis- 
liked, though  he  tried  to  overcome  that  feel- 
ing. 

"Greville,"  exclaimed  the  Marquis,  "I'm 
afraid  from  what  I  hear  that  you  went  tres- 
passing this  morning." 

"Oh,  did  we?"  exclaimed  Sartoris,  lightly, 
not  attaching  much  importance  to  the  opin- 
ions of  the  racing  Marquis  upon  any  sub- 
ject. 

70 


THE  ACCIDENT 


"Yes,  from  beyond  the  bend  where  the 
Bourne  winds  through  the  Brancaster  prop- 
erty," Beverley  continued,  in  a  modified 
tone. 

"Of  course — so  it  does,"  answered  Sar- 
toris.  "Well,  we  didn't  go  far.  Surely  it 
doesn't  matter.  As  a  neighbor  Brancaster 
wouldn't  object." 

Beverley  frowned  as  he  went  on  in  his 
ponderous  and  bombastic  tone: 

"He's  a  neighbor  to  whom  I  object — cer- 
tainly not  one  from  whom  I'd  ask  favors." 

One  of  the  women  of  the  house  party, 
Lady  Antrobus,  had  overheard  the  two  men 
use  the  name  Brancaster.  Of  Lady  Antro- 
bus it  had  been  said  that  "she  rushed  in 
where — well,  you  know,  my  dear."  Her 
shrewish  curiosity  made  her  anxious  to 
know  what  they  were  saying  of  Brancaster, 
so,  despite  the  breeding  of  her  line,  she  in- 
terjected herself  into  the  conversation. 

"Lord  Brancaster  will  have  to  sell  the 


THE  WHIP 


Rievers  for  a  song  if  he  goes  on  racing  so 
desperately,"  she  said. 

She  was  an  old  neighbor  of  the  Mar- 
quis, and  her  chance  touching  upon  a  hobby 
of  Beverley  aroused  his  ire. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  he,  "betting  so  desper- 
ately. Gambling  is  not  racing." 

"He's  a  wonderfully  cool  gambler,"  went 
on  the  chatty  tongue  of  his  feminine  neigh- 
bor. "I  saw  him  at  Sandown  last  Autumn 
betting  over  the  rail  with  all  the  bookmak- 
ers on  the  other  side  raging  at  him  like  a 
pack  of  wolves." 

Sartoris  himself  had  taken  the  other  end 
of  some  of  these  bets,  and  his  smile  was  rue- 
ful as  he  put  in: 

"With  Kelly,  the  Leviathan,  leading 
them,  hurling  the  odds  at  his  head  in  thou- 
sands." 

It  was  plain  that  Lady  Antrobus,  who  had 
known  of  Brancaster  since  he  was  a  boy,  had 
a  sort  of  admiration  for  him. 

72 


THE  ACCIDENT 


"And  he  never  turned  a  hair,"  she  went 
on.  "I  believe  he  loves  the  excitement." 

The  failure  of  the  plan  of  the  father  of 
Lady  Diana  and  of  Brancaster  had  left  a 
deep  bitterness  in  the  heart  of  Beverley. 
The  good  man's  bark  was  worse  than  his 
bite,  however. 

The  Marquis  felt  that  a  man  of  his  own 
position  and  morality  owed  it  to  the  world 
to  point  out  every  horrible  example,  even  if 
that  example  were  the  son  of  an  old  family 
friend.  "For  how  otherwise  can  the  rising 
generation  get  the  proper  moral  perspec- 
tive?" he  had  asked  more  than  once. 

So  now  he  did  not  hesitate,  though  he  was 
well  aware  that  his  utterances  would  place 
him  in  the  light  of  seeming  rather  less  of  a 
gentleman  than  he  was,  in  the  minds  of  those 
who  might  not  understand  his  real  feeling  in 
this  and  related  matters. 

"He  won't  love  paying  for  it,"  he 
said,  "and  for  his  other  follies" —  Even 

73 


THE  WHIP 


Beverley  felt  that  he  was  going  too  far. 

But  the  mind  of  Lady  Antrobus  was  alert 
for  any  bit  of  gossip. 

"Are  they  so  very  costly?"  she  continued, 
hoping  to  open  the  doors  of  the  Marquis's 
indignation. 

But  Lord  Beverley  glanced  at  Lady 
Diana  not  very  far  off.  Then  he  coughed, 
as  he  returned  hesitatingly: 

"Hem — er — I  have  heard  so." 

Mrs.  Antrobus  added  fuel  to  what  she 
felt  was  a  flame  about  to  expire. 

"I've  only  met  him  once,"  she  said,  with 
the  air  of  one  contradicting  the  Marquis, 
"and  I  thought  he'd  charming  manners  and 
was  quite  good  looking.  Every  youngster 
must  sow  his  wild  oats,  you  know,  my  dear 
Marquis." 

Lady  Antrobus  had  partially  succeeded. 
Beverley  did  not,  it  is  true,  add  to  her  fund 
of  knowledge  regarding  the  escapades  of 
Brancaster,  but  he  did  express  his  own  opin- 

74 


THE  ACCIDENT 


ion  most  forcibly,  though  in  his  somewhat 
stilted  phrase. 

"Certainly,  let  him  sow  all  the  wild  oats 
he  wishes,"  he  said,  "but  not  in  my  garden. 
If  you  women  of  position  in  social  England 
did  your  duty,  a  boy  like  Brancaster  would 
be  cut.  Yes,  and  we  men  are  just  as  much 
to  blame  too,  for  we  should  cut  him  for  your 
sakes.  We  smile  too  much  and  look  the 
other  way  in  these  days.  Many  a  youngster 
would  be  saved  from  perdition  if  his  elders 
only  spoke  out  as  men  and  gentlemen  should 
speak,  as  I  myself  would  speak  to  Brancas- 
ter, if  he  ever  came  here. 

"If  we  all  acted  as  we  should  in  regard 
to  these  spendthrift  boys  and  these  wastrels 
more  than  half  of  them  would  turn  from 
their  folly  and  become  worthy  of  their  an- 
cestors. If  Brancaster  ever  came  to  Fal- 
conhurst  I  would  not  hesitate  to  say  to  him: 
While  my  women  folk  live  in  my  house, 
you  are  not  welcome  within  it.' ' 

75 


THE  WHIP 


Lady  Antrobus  sighed  at  thought  of  the 
young  Earl,  who  was  so  unwelcome  in  the 
home  of  the  friends  of  his  father.  She 
might  have  returned  to  the  attack,  but  at 
this  moment  a  loud  cry  from  Captain  Ray- 
ner,  one  of  the  men  of  the  house  party,  drew 
not  only  her  attention  but  that  of  Beverley 
and  all  the  rest  as  well. 

Rayner  was  standing  near  the  highway, 
which  passed  not  very  far  from  a  corner 
of  the  stables,  and  he  was  looking  upward 
along  the  tortuous  course  of  the  road  as  it 
steadily  mounted  to  the  highlands. 

Down  that  road  from  the  plateau  above, 
a  large  touring  automobile  was  rushing, 
swaying  from  side  to  side  as  the  man  at  the 
wheel  desperately  took  the  many  turns  in 
the  course.  There  was  a  woman  beside 
him.  Suddenly  she  arose  and  screamed. 
A  moment  later  she  had  jumped  from 
the  car,  and  was  standing  in  safety  in  the 


THE  ACCIDENT 


road  watching  the  terrifying  descent  of  the 
automobile. 

Not  all  of  the  women  in  the  group  at  the 
Falconhurst  stables  saw  the  woman  after  she 
had  left  the  lurching  vehicle,  as  some  of 
them  were  too  occupied  with  their  own  fears 
and  terrors.  For  gradually,  after  their  first 
moments  of  amazement,  they  realized  that 
the  car  was  beyond  control. 

After  the  woman  jumped  the  man  looked 
backward  for  just  a  fleeting  instant  as 
though  assuring  himself  that  she  was  safe. 
Then  he  doubled  over  his  wheel. 

To  the  autoists  among  the  watchers  it  was 
soon  apparent  that  the  man  in  the  car  pos- 
sessed no  means  of  checking  its  momentum. 
Plainly  the  brakes  were  not  working.  As 
he  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  them  they 
could  see  that  he  was  fumbling  with  his 
change  gear  lever,  in  an  effort  to  throw  the 
reverse  into  mesh  and  check  the  car.  But 
77 


THE  WHIP 


something  stuck  and  the  gears  did  not  en- 
gage. The  Lady  Diana  moved  closer  to  the 
road,  her  face  white,  but  self-possessed. 
She  thought  that  she  recognized  the  staunch 
figure  in  the  car,  which  through  some  deep- 
seated  instinct  of  sportsmanship  did  not,  and 
had  not,  attempted  to  leave  its  seat. 

Making  a  megaphone  of  her  hands  she 
called  up : 

"Throw  in  your  first — throw  in  your  first 
« — that'll  slacken  you." 

But  even  before  she  spoke  the  man  in  the 
car  had  been  attempting  to  do  so.  The 
lever  shot  forward,  and  then  before  he 
could  try  to  mesh  the  gears,  the  car  ca- 
reened on  two  wheels.  The  rider's  hand 
was  forced  to  quit  the  lever  and  with  his 
other  hand  grasp  more  firmly  the  wheel. 

He  rounded  the  curve  and  literally  fell, 
car  and  man,  down  the  last  descent  that  sep- 
parated  him  from  the  bit  of  road  beside  the 
Falconhurst  stables.  Now  he  seemed  to 

78 


THE  ACCIDENT 


have  clear  sailing,  for  the  road  ran  straight, 
and  half  a  mile  beyond  the  stables  there  was 
a  slight  rise  that  would  be  more  than  suffi- 
cient to  check  the  speed  of  the  car,  intense 
though  it  was. 

As  the  car  and  man  blurred  past  Lady 
Diana  she  thought  she  caught  from  the  car 
the  words,  "Thank  you,"  and  the  flash  of  a 
hand  waved  in  the  air. 

The  next  instant  there  was  a  thunderous 
crash,  followed  by  the  manifold  and  multi- 
tudinous sounds  of  separate  mechanisms  of 
metal  being  rent  asunder  all  in  one  second, 
yet  following  one  another  in  minute  frac- 
tions of  that  second. 

The  eye  of  the  rider  must  have  'deviated 
from  his  course  in  that  brief  moment  when 
he  had  waved  his  hand  and  called  his  thanks 
to  the  girl  who  had  had  the  presence  of 
mind  to  shout  to  him  the  only  thing  possible 
in  that  crisis. 

His  car,  deviating  ever  so  slightly  in  that 
79 


THE  WHIP 


instant,  had  rushed  into  the  stone  corner  of 
the  bridge  just  at  the  side  of  the  footpath. 
It  lay  in  fragments  and  twisted  bits  of  metal. 
The  man,  hurled  to  the  middle  of  the  high- 
way, sprawled  there,  bleeding  and  uncon- 
scious. 

For  a  long  moment  men  and  women  stood 
without  moving.  Then  Rayner  and  Bever- 
ley  broke  the  spell,  and  a  half  dozen  of  them 
darted  forward,  took  up  the  form  in  the 
road  and  carried  it  into  the  stable  yard. 
Upon  her  arm  Lady  Diana  received  the 
limp,  hanging  head,  as  they  put  the  man 
upon  the  ground. 

"Quick,  Lambert,  some  brandy,"  ordered 
Beverley  to  the  Whip's  trainer. 

"Grandfather,  he's  dying,"  Lady  Diana 
exclaimed  pityingly. 

Then  she  looked  long  into  the  face. 

"It's  the  stranger,  my  artist,"  she  said,  a 
vast  sadness  falling  upon  her  as  she  saw  the 
wrist,  lying  there  limp,  upon  which  not  so 

80 


THE  ACCIDENT 


long  before  her  hunter  had  set  its  mark. 
He  had  laughed  so  blithely  and  had  taken 
so  good-naturedly  what  had  seemed  to  her 
a  matter  of  so  much  concern,  and  here  he  lay 
dead,  or  dying.  Poor  stranger!  Poor  art- 
ist! But  a  step  from  laughter  to  death!  she 
reflected  sadly. 

Now  Lambert  had  brought  the  brandy 
but  he  did  not  hand  it  to  the  Marquis  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  poor,  pale  face. 

"My  lord,  it's  the  man  we  thought  a  tout," 
he  said  to  his  employer. 

"I  can't  help  that,"  answered  Beverley  im- 
patiently. "The  pony  cart,  quick!  The 
man's  hurt.  We  must  take  him  to  the  house 
at  once — at  once!" 

Captain  Sartoris  had  been  looking  into 
the  face  of  the  inert  stranger  on  the  ground 
for  several  moments  in  a  puzzled  fashion. 
He  knew  that  he  knew  the  man,  but  the 
banishment  of  consciousness  had  made  such 
a  difference  in  the  features  that  for  the  mo- 

8 1 


THE  WHIP 


ment  he  could  not  identify  them.  Suddenly 
he  made  an  exclamation. 

"Good  heavens,  cousin!  Do  you  see  who 
this  is?"  came  from  him  as  his  memory 
cleared. 

The  Marquis  looked  at  the  man  on  the 
ground  and  then  into  the  face  of  the  Cap- 
tain, an  unspoken  inquiry  in  his  own  eyes. 

Sartoris  took  a  deep  breath,  the  better  to 
subdue  his  own  lively  astonishment. 

"It's — it's — Brancaster,"  he  said. 


82 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  TIME — AND  THE  PARSON 

FOR  six  days  now  Lord  Brancaster  had  lain 
in  one  of  the  lofty  old  bed-chambers  of  the 
ancient  house  of  Falconhurst.  He  had  not 
regained  consciousness  for  a  moment  since 
the  day  of  the  accident. 

Despite  the  words  of  censure  the  Marquis 
of  Beverley  had  spoken  of  the  Earl  of  Bran- 
caster  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  now 
save  to  try  to  efface  them  in  every  possible 
way. 

Beverley  had  done  more  than  the  situation 
demanded.  It  was  as  if  the  injury  which 
had  fallen  upon  the  Earl  had  wiped  out  all 
the  past  and  had  brought  to  the  old  racing 
nobleman  a  renewed  consciousness  of  the 
brotherhood  of  man.  The  most  noted  phy- 
sicians and  surgeons  of  London  had  been 

83 


THE  WHIP 


summoned  by  him,  and  Sir  Andrew  Beck, 
whose  very  retaining  cast  a  distinction  upon 
any  family  able  to  induce  the  great  surgeon 
to  visit  them,  was  even  now  in  consultation 
with  some  half  dozen  of  the  kingdom's 
greatest  surgical  experts.  There  was  a 
question  as  to  whether  they  would  try  an 
operation  in  the  hope  of  relieving  the  pres- 
sure upon  the  patient's  brain,  but  the  consen- 
sus of  opinion  was  against  it. 

The  chamber  in  which  Brancaster  lay  had 
been  the  abode  of  more  than  one  fugitive 
nobleman  in  the  days  of  the  Commonwealth, 
which  had  followed  the  ascendency  of  the 
Puritans  after  the  execution  of  Charles  I, 
and  there  was  a  well-authenticated  legend 
that  "Bonnie  Prince  Charlie"  himself  had 
once  been  sheltered  there  when  there  was  a 
price  upon  his  head. 

But  certainly  never  before  had  the  old 
apartment  occupied  by  the  unconscious 
Branfaster  had  a  more  lovely  aspect.  There 

84 


THE  TIME 


were  flowers  everywhere,  but  not  in  the  pro- 
fusion that  would  have  meant  annoyance  to 
the  ill  man  had  he  been  conscious  of  them. 
There  were  lilies  of  the  valley  in  the  old 
stone  vase,  built  into  the  ancient,  disused 
fireplace.  Their  white  loveliness  was  ac- 
centuated by  the  long  trailing  vines  that 
formed  their  background.  For  Lady  Di- 
ana had  seen  to  the  comfort  and  decoration 
of  the  apartment  of  the  man  she  was  sure 
could  not  be  entirely  bad. 

The  accident  to  this  young  man  in  the 
prime  of  his  life  had  done  much  to  soften 
her  pride  of  the  very  young,  and  she  realized 
that  her  judgment  was  harsh. 

In  these  days  she  accepted  nearly  every- 
thing without  question.  When  the  woman 
she  had  seen  with  Brancaster,  on  the  day  he 
was  known  to  her  merely  as  the  artist,  called 
at  Falconhurst  and  asked  to  be  allowed  to  sit 
by  the  side  of  the  unconscious  man,  the  girl 
had  led  her  without  question  to  the  bed- 

85 


THE  WHIP 


chamber,  though  her  grandfather  had  sub- 
sequently seen  that  a  footman  performed 
that  office. 

Lady  Diana  had  not  inquired  as  to  the 
woman  visitor  anything  more  than  her 
name.  The  "Mrs.  D'Aquila"  she  had  re- 
ceived told  her  nothing,  and  she  did  not 
ask  other  information  as  to  the  dark,  foreign 
appearing  woman  who  seemed  to  take  Bran- 
caster's  injury  so  deeply  to  heart. 

There  was  within  Lady  Diana  a  deep 
spiritual  sense.  She  felt  that  the  stricken 
Earl  might  die, — indeed  she  had  heard  it  so 
whispered,  though  the  Marquis  tried  to 
spare  her  such  thoughts  as  these.  She  felt 
in  her  pure  consciousness  of  small  sin  that  if 
he  died  without  receiving  benefit  of  the 
Church  of  England,  or  of  any  clergyman, 
there  would  be  a  cloud  upon  both  his 
chances  in  a  world  which  might  understand 
him  better,  and  upon  her  own  conscience  as 
well.  She  could  not  forget  those  murmured 

86 


THE  TIME 


words  as  the  car  shot  by  her,  and  that  waving 
of  the  hand.  Surely  "that  within  us  which 
makes  for  righteousness"  could  not  ignore 
such  a  spirit.  His  was  a  rare  soul,  which 
must  have  its  chance  in  that  void  into  which 
hourly  it  seemed  about  to  escape. 

So  she  had  dispatched  a  note  to  the  vicar, 
innocently  unmindful  of  the  fact  that 
"Sporting  J-ack"  Thorpe  rode  far  better  to 
hounds  than  he  did  to  grace,  and  that  even 
then  he  was  taking  the  cure  for  gout  far  from 
the  village,  the  great  name  of  which  was 
Beverley. 

To-day,  just  as  the  sun  was  about  to  set, 
she  was  waiting  on  the  terrace  of  the  Italian 
Garden  for  the  appearance  of  Thorpe  in 
answer  to  her  summons.  As  she  walked  to 
and  fro  along  the  terrace,  with  many  glances 
down  the  little  path — known  to  her  friends 
who  did  not  wish  to  drive  a  mile  along  the 
road  before  they  reached  the  castle — she  was 
joined  by  her  cousin,  Captain  Greville  Sar- 

87 


THE  WHIP 


toris.  The  captain  was,  as  usual,  "devilishly 
hard  up,"  as  he  was  wont  to  put  it,  and  he 
was  trying  to  evolve  a  way  to  make  a  "kill- 
ing." 

As  Sartoris  descended  the  terrace  steps 
Lady  Diana  stood  looking  earnestly  in  the 
direction  of  the  village. 

"No  sign  of  anyone  coming,"  the  Captain 
remarked. 

"They  must  have  got  my  note  at  the 
vicarage!"  Lady  Diana  said  with  anxiety,  as 
she  turned  appealingly  to  her  cousin. 

"Would  your  parson  come  this  way — by 
the  private  gate?" 

"Oh!  yes,  Greville — all  our  friends  near 
the  village  do,  if  they  don't  want  to  drive  a 
mile  up  the  Front  Avenue." 

Sartoris  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"P'raps  the  old  chap  ain't  well.  Didn't 
we  hear  he'd  a  touch  of  gout?" 

"Yes,  yes,  and  he  wrote  he  was  going  to 
Harrogate  for  a  cure,  but  not  until  next 

88 


THE  TIME 


week,  I  think."  It  was  clear  that  Lady  Di- 
ana was  greatly  alarmed  over  the  condition 
of  the  injured  man. 

"Is  there  really  much  for  a  parson  to  do 
here,  Di?  Poor  Brancaster  has  never  been 
conscious  since  the  smash."  Captain  Sar- 
toris  regarded  his  pretty  cousin  closely  and  a 
slight  irritation  upset  for  the  moment  the 
man's  accustomed  sang  froid. 

"Nearly  six  days — hanging  between  life 
and  death — and  now  at  any  minute  he 
may — "  The  girl  stopped  abruptly,  unable 
or  unwilling  to  speak  the  dreaded  word. 

"At  any  minute,  my  dear  Di,  he's  just  as 
likely  to  wake  up.  When  he  does,  believe 
me  he  won't  ask  for  a  parson.  He'll  ask  for 
the  lady  who  is  sitting  by  him  now."  And 
there  was  just  a  trace  of  unpleasantness  in 
the  Captain's  low  laugh. 

"Mrs.  D'Aquila?  .  .  .  She  seems  very 
devoted  to  him,  Greville,"  Lady  Diana  said 
slowly. 

89 


THE  WHIP 


"Comes  over  from  the  Rievers  three  times 
a  day!"  There  was  a  certain  innuendo  in 
Capt.  Sartoris'  remark. 

"She  was  staying  there  I  suppose  with — 
er— with — " 

"With  a  tame  chaperone,  Di — she  does 
everything  quite  correctly."  It  was  quite 
evident  that  Greville  found  something  par- 
ticularly amusing  in  Lord  Brancaster's  mys- 
terious visitor. 

"I  ought  to  be  sorry — she  looks  so  anxious 
and  troubled."  Lady  Diana  turned  a  wor- 
ried face  toward  her  jaunty  cousin. 

"Hem.  No  doubt  she  is,"  the  Captain 
answered  drily. 

"Greville!  .  .  .  Who  is  Mrs.  D'Aquila?" 
the  girl  asked  him  point-blank. 

Sartoris  looked  at  her  quizzically  as  he 
slowly  exhaled  the  smoke  from  his  cigarette 
before  replying. 

"She  <was  a  married  woman,"  he  said, 
"moving  in  good  society.  She  is — er — still 

90 


THE  TIME 


received  in  some  society.  She  is  exactly 
the  sort  of  woman  that  suits  the  Brancaster 
sort  of  man.  She  is  not  the  sort  of  woman 
your  grandfather  would  wish  me  to  discuss 
with  you." 

"I'm  not  a  girl,  Greville.  What  is  the 
attraction  about  such  a  woman?" 

"The  attraction  of  curry  and  cayenne 
pepper  for  people  whose  appetites  have 
been  spoiled  by  hot  living,"  was  the  Cap- 
tain's reply. 

There  were  countless  unspoken  questions 
halting  on  Lady  Diana's  lips  as  she  re- 
garded Sartoris  sadly.  It  was  some  time 
before  she  spoke.  And  then  she  said — 
"Do  they  never  get  tired  of  curry?  I 
should  have  thought  too  much  of  it  would 

have  made  them  absolutely  long  for — for 

, » 

"Milk  and  sponge  cake?"  the  Captain 
interrupted.  "Very  seldom.  It's  always 
difficult  to  break  oneself  of  a  bad  habit 


THE  WHIP 


Mrs.  D'Aquila  is  a  very  bad  habit,"  and  he 
sent  his  cigarette  spinning  into  the  shrub- 
bery. 

"Dressed  up,  painted,  dyed — "  Lady 
Diana  enumerated,  as  if  she  were  counting 
the  seven  sins. 

"Brancaster's  taste,  my  dear  Di." 

"For — curried  hair,  Greville?  It  isn't 
natural."  Lady  Diana  had  a  saving  sense 
of  humor  that  never  allowed  her  to  be  long 
downcast. 

"What?"  Sartoris  inquired. 

"Both.  If  he  could  only  be  cut  free — 
got  away  from — from — "  she  hesitated. 

"From  that  sort  of  thing?  Quite  so — 
he'd  drift  back  to  it,  my  dear  Di — they  al- 
ways do!"  And  the  Captain  spoke  with 
the  conviction  of  one  much  experienced. 

"You  think  all  men  are  alike,  Greville  1" 
she  protested. 

"I  know  all  women  are  not — and  the 
more  I  see  of — of  women  like  Mrs. 

92 


THE  TIME 


D'Aquila — the  more  I  know  it:  the 
sweeter,  the  fresher,  the  dearer,  seems  the 
natural  real  true  girl — the  girl  like  you, 
Di."  Sartoris  bent  over  his  cousin  and  his 
hand  brushed  hers  momentarily,  almost  as 
if  through  accident.  He  turned  quickly, 
and  leaning  over  the  marble  balustrade  of 
the  pool,  went  on — 

"You've  been  an  awfully  good  pal  to  me, 
Di." 

"Have  I,  Greville?" 

"Yes.    When    Beverley    cut   up    rough 

» 

"Nonsense,"  the  girl  broke  in.  "Grand- 
dad's rich.  If  you  got  hard  up — well — 
you're  the  next  heir." 

"To  the  title — empty,"  the  Captain  an- 
swered shortly.  "You'll  take  the  fortune. 
Your  father  would  have  had  both.  That's 
why  Beverley  resents  me,  if  he  don't  abso- 
lutely dislike  me.  He'd  be  happy  if  you 
were  a  boy." 

93 


THE  WHIP 


Lady  Diana  clenched  her  hands  and 
glanced  up  proudly  at  the  great  house. 

"I  often  wish  I  were,"  she  said  with  real 
regret.  "We  belong  to  the  place  as  much 
as  it  belongs  to  us.  But  when  it's  mine  I 
shall  be  the  first  who  won't  be  called  'Mar- 
quis of  Beverley.' ' 

"You  might  be  called   'Marchioness,' ' 
her  cousin  murmured. 

"No,  that  would  be  the  title  of  your 
wife,  Greville." 

"Your  title — if  you  were  my  wife,"  the 
man  answered  slowly,  turning. 

"Greville!" — she  exclaimed,  with  a 
catch  in  her  voice. 

"Title  and  estate  brought  together  again, 
Di!  Is  it  quite  impossible?  I've  never 
talked  love  and — nonsense  to  you.  But 
I've  learned  to  love  you  very  really — for 
yourself — and  because  I've  seen  the  world 
and  know  your  worth  in  it.  I'm  not  a  saint 
— but  every  hour  with  you  makes  a  man 

94 


THE  TIME 


better — makes  him  try  to  be  more  worthy 
— is  it  quite  impossible?"  Greville  Sar- 
toris  had  made  love  to  many  women  in  his 
time,  but  with  all  his  tremendous  assurance 
he  found  it  just  a  bit  difficult  to  say  these 
things  to  his  cousin. 

"Greville  I    Quite." 

She  stopped  him  with  a  gesture  that  for- 
bade him  to  continue.  "And  please  for 
good  friendship's  sake,  for  cousinship, 
never  again — "  She  did  not  finish,  but 
started  forward  suddenly  as  a  dark  figure 
defined  itself  in  the  deepening  shadows  and 
came  quickly  nearer.  It  was  a  man  in  cler- 
icals. 

"Ah,  at  last!"  Lady  Diana  breathed  with 
a  world  of  relief.  And  then  she  saw  that 
it  was  a  stranger.  "I  beg  your  pardon — " 
she  apologized. 

"Lady  Diana  Sartoris?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes." 

"My  name  is  Haslam,"  the  newcomer  ex- 

95 


THE  WHIP 


plained.  "I  am  taking  the  vicar's  duty — • 
while  he  is  away.  You  sent  a  message,  you 
know." 

"Yes.  Lord  Brancaster  met  with  an  ac- 
cident some  days  ago — he  is  lying  here  at 
our  house — and  his  condition  has  become 
so — so  serious — that  it  seemed  best  to  send 
for  the  vicar." 

"I  greatly  regret.  His  Lordship  has  ex- 
pressed a  wish — ?" 

"He  has  never  recovered  consciousness," 
Lady  Diana  said,  soberly.  "We  felt  it 
would  be  so  sad,  so  terrible,  if — if — "  and 
she  stopped  and  turned  her  head  away. 

Mr.  Haslam  drew  a  step  nearer. 

"If  the  end  should  come  without  the  con- 
solations of  the  Church?"  he  continued  for 
her.  "Though,  indeed,  if  he  is  insensible 
— and  can  neither  speak  nor  hear —  He 
hesitated,  but  the  man's  meaning  was  ob- 
vious. 


THE  TIME 


"Heaven  hears  always,  doesn't  it,  Mr. 
Haslam?"  Lady  Diana  asked. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Haslam  inclined  his 
head. 

"Greville,"  and  Lady  Diana  turned  to 
her  cousin,  "tell  the  doctor  Mr.  Haslam  is 
going  to  Lord  Brancaster — if  there  is  no 
objection." 

"Certainly,"  said  Sartoris,  "though  I'm 
sure  he'll  feel  as  I  do  that  the  poor  sufferer 
will  be  greatly  benefited  by  the  ministra- 
tions of  so  eminent  a  divine  as  the  Rev.  Ver- 
ner  Haslam!" 

The  clergyman  started  slightly — imper- 
ceptibly, almost — at  the  Captain's  words, 
and  Greville  Sartoris  strolled  away  in  the 
direction  of  the  house,  laughing  silently. 

"This  way,  please,"  Lady  Diana  said  to 
the  minister.  And  then,  with  some  sur- 
prise she  asked,  "Do  you  know  my  cousin?" 

"I— I  did,"  Haslam  replied.  "At  Ox- 
97 


THE  WHIP 


ford.     We  have  not  met  for  many  years." 
Then  with  another  troubled  look  at  Sar- 
toris  he  passed  toward  the  house  with  Lady 
Diana. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  TRIALS  OF  LOVE 

ACROSS  the  meadows  and  through  Bev- 
erley  Wood,  Harry  Anson,  the  Whip's 
jockey,  followed  his  sister.  The  manner  of 
the  girl  was  furtive  and  occasionally  she 
looked  back  as  though  she  suspected  she 
was  being  followed. 

At  such  times  Harry,  in  the  dusk  of  the 
evening,  took  advantage  of  whatever  cover 
there  was.  So  Myrtle,  without  being  more 
than  half-conscious  of  another's  presence, 
finally  arrived  in  the  Italian  Garden  that 
stretched  and  sloped  away  from  Falcon- 
hurst  to  the  south.  Now,  he  thought,  he 
would  find  out  to  whom  Myrtle  had  been 
giving  news  of  the  racers  in  the  Beverley 
stables.  But  in  his  haste  to  enter  the  gar- 
den too,  and  conceal  himself,  he  stumbled 

99 


THE  WHIP 


over  a  small  rose  bush  whose  branches  had 
escaped  a  needed  trimming  by  the  gardener. 

With  a  shudder  Myrtle  turned  and  saw 
him.  But,  nevertheless,  with  the  strategy 
of  a  woman,  she  at  once  put  him  on  the 
defensive. 

"Harry!"  she  exclaimed  to  her  brother. 

"Well?"  was  the  rejoinder. 

"What — what  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Lord  Beverley  sent  for  me,"  Harry  an- 
swered. "I'm  going  up  to  the  house. 
What  are  you  doing?" 

"N — nothing,"  she  faltered. 

"You  seem  frightened  about  it,"  he  said 
with  cutting  sarcasm. 

"I'm  not." 

"Who  are  you  looking  for?"  he  de- 
manded, drawing  nearer.  "Who  have  you 
come  to  meet?" 

"No  one,"  she  declared. 

"That's  a  lie!"  he  almost  shouted.  "I've 
watched  you  across  the  meadow — down  by 
100  / 


THE  TRIALS  OF  LOVE 

the  woodside — thinking  you  weren't  seen 

?j 

"I  didn't  come  here  to  meet  anybody," 
she  said  timidly. 

"And  it's  not  the  first  time,"  Harry 
added. 

"It's  nothing  to  you,"  she  told  him  blunt- 

iy- 

"Yes,  it  is.  Someone's  been  talking. 
Things  have  got  out  about  the  horses. 
Who  talks?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"I  do,"  the  boy  went  on,  unable  to  con- 
trol his  anger.  "A  girl.  Who  for? 
Someone  who's  making  a  fool  of  her." 

"What  do  I  know  of  the  horses,  Harry?" 
she  asked,  thoroughly  frightened.  "You 
never  tell  me  anything — as  you  used  to  do." 

Harry's  suspicion  would  not  be  denied. 

"Good  reason,"  he  snarled.  "But  others 
may — and  you  may  fetch  and  carry  tales 
outside  for  them — if  it's  no  worse  than 
101 


THE  WHIP 


that,"  he  finished  lamely,  with  a  choke  in 
his  voice. 

"Worse?"  the  girl  stammered. 

"Yes,"  her  brother  answered.  "But  I'll 
find  the  blackguard  out,  and  if  I  do — " 
He  stopped  suddenly,  as  he  heard  footsteps 
along  the  path,  and  shrank  back  against 
the  bushes  under  the  terrace  just  in  time 
to  escape  being  seen  by  Tom  Lambert. 

"Ah!  Myrtle,"  Tom's  cheery  voice  called 
out,  as  he  recognized  the  girl,  "his  lord- 
ship's just  sent  for  Harry,  and  now  I  want 
you — " 

Harry  burst  out  of  his  hiding  place  and 
confronted  the  astonished  trainer. 

"You  do!  do  you?"  he  growkd  in  Lam- 
bert's face.  "And  what  for?" 

Tom  was  quite  taken  aback  at  the  sudden 
onslaught. 

"What  the  deuce  is  wrong  with  you, 
Harry  Anson?"  he  asked  with  amazement. 
102 


THE  TRIALS  OF  LOVE 

"I'll  stand  no  wrong — not  with  my 
sister,"  the  boy  blustered. 

"Young  idiot,"  returned  Lambert,  sav- 
agely aware  that  the  world  seemed  in  con- 
spiracy with  Mrs.  Beamish. 

"Perhaps,"  exclaimed  Harry;  "but  I'm 
not  a  blackguard." 

Just  then  Mrs.  Beamish  came  slowly 
toward  the  house  and  then  stopped  abruptly 
as  she  heard  their  heated  words. 

"For  tuppence  I'd  put  my  stick  around 
you,"  shouted  the  furious  Lambert,  raising 
his  cane. 

"I've  found  the  stable  mouse,  Mr.  Lam- 
bert," went  on  Harry,  rage  blinding  his 
eyes  and  judgment  alike.  "Someone  tells 
Myrtle  stable  secrets  for  her  to  send  out- 
side. And  why  does  she  do  it?  Won't  a 
girl  do  anything  for  a  man  when  he's  fooled 
her,  got  her  under  his  thumb?" 

Lambert  could  stand  nothing  more,  and 
103 


THE  WHIP 


he  seized  the  boy  by  the  shoulder,  shaking 
him  savagely  while  he  raised  his  stick  for 
chastisement. 

Quickly  Mrs.  Beamish  interposed,  re- 
leased Harry  and  stepped  between  them, 
much  as  a  referee  might  have  done  in  the 
prize  ring. 

"If  you'd  only  heard  what  he  said," 
panted  Lambert,  ready  to  take  advantage  of 
the  slightest  opening  between  the  two  men 
that  Mrs.  Beamish  might  leave. 

"I  did,"  she  returned  in  her  dry  tone  of 
suspicion.  "He  has  my  sympathy." 

The  fight  left  the  spirit  of  Lambert  at 
once.  This  woman  whom  he  loved  was 
forever  suspecting  him  groundlessly. 

"You  think  I'd  go  courting  a  girl  that 
age?"  he  said  mournfully  to  his  elderly 
flame. 

Mrs.  Beamish  smiled  bitterly. 

"I  certainly  hoped  you  knew  better  at 
your  age,"  she  snapped. 
104 


THE  TRIALS  OF  LOVE 

Then,  with  an  abrupt  resumption  of  that 
dignity  which  became  her  so  well,  she  sent 
Myrtle  back  to  the  Anson  cottage  and  Harry 
to  see  Lord  Beverley. 

"And  when  you  get  back  to  the  stable," 
Lambert  could  not  resist  calling  after 
Harry,  "you  know  what's  waiting  for  you." 

"Coward!"  sputtered  Mrs.  Beamish 
when  they  were  once  more  alone. 

"Cat!"  retorted  the  outraged  trainer. 
"Only  a  woman  would  believe  a  lot  of  gos- 
sip like  that." 

"I've  seen  you  talking  to  the  girl,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Beamish  coldly  and  haughtily. 

"There  was  something  wrong  with  the 
boy,"  explained  Lambert. 

"Now  we  know  what  it  is,"  came  from 
her. 

"Well,  I  will  be — ,"  began  Lambert. 

"You  certainly  will  be  if  you  don't  re- 
form at  once,"  she  said  tartly,  as  she  gath- 
ered her  skirts  carefully  about  her,  ready 
105 


THE  WHIP 


to  leave  him  with  all  the  scorn  at  the  com- 
mand of  fluttering  petticoats.  "And  you'll 
get  into  all  sorts  of  difficulties.  If  you 
don't  look  sharp  you'll  find  yourself  the 
central  figure  in  a  big  breach  of  promise 
suit.  And  she'll  get  big  damages.  Serve 
you  right,  you  old  fool!"  And  then  she 
was  gone,  leaving  Lambert  assassinating 
several  rare  shrubs  with  his  cane. 


106 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MARRIAGE  MADE  EASY 

ALONE  in  the  Italian  Garden  were  Mrs. 
D'Aquila  and  Captain  Greville  Sartoris. 
There  was  a  certain  kinship  of  spirit  be- 
tween the  two.  Sartoris  was  cool  and  in- 
cisive— so  was  the  woman.  Sartoris  had 
not  hesitated  at  much  to  gain  his  small 
sporting  ends, — neither  would  she.  He 
was  now  on  the  point  of  anything  criminal 
that  would  advance  his  pocketbook, — so 
would  she  be.  Added  to  this  they  had 
known  each  other  intimately  in  London  in 
a  certain  society  in  which  Mrs.  D'Aquila 
was  now  at  home,  and  which  Sartoris 
sought  occasionally. 

As  the  Captain  and  Mrs.  D'Aquila  stood 
talking  in  the  starlight,  they  were  inter- 
rupted by  the  arrival  of  Sir  Andrew  Beck, 
107 


THE  WHIP 


Brancaster's  surgeon,  who  was  on  his  way 
to  the  house  to  see  his  patient. 

"Ah,  Sir  Andrew  1"  Mrs.  D'Aquila 
greeted  the  doctor.  "I  hoped  to  see  you 
before  I  left.  I  am  so  anxious  about  dear 
Hubert — er — Lord  Brancaster." 

"We  must  all  be,  Mrs.  D'Aquila,"  the 
surgeon  replied  gravely,  as  he  looked  at  the 
woman  somewhat  curiously. 

"He's  worse?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"He  could  not  be,  madam." 

"You  are  alarmed  then?" 

"I  am  hopeful,  equally.  He  has  been 
insensible  for  six  days.  I  fear  at  any  mo- 
ment he  may  collapse.  I  hope  at  any  mo- 
ment he  may  regain  consciousness — for 
when  he  does,  his  recovery  should  be 
rapid." 

"Should  be?"  she  pressed  Sir  Andrew. 

"Nothing  is  certain,"  he  explained. 
"Brain  injury  leaves  dangerous,  and  some- 
times very  curious,  after  effects.  Prob- 
108 


MARRIAGE  MADE  EASY 

ably  he  will  never  remember  anything 
about  his  accident — even  getting  into  his 
car—" 

"Deuced  strange,  isn't  it?"  Captain  Sar- 
toris  put  in. 

"Yes,"   Sir  Andrew  replied.     "A  blow 
on  the  brain  knocks  a  bit  out  of  memory." 

"For   long?"    Mrs.    D'Aquila   inquired 
suddenly. 

"Forever,"  he  answered  briefly. 

"Yes,  I  saw  that  once,"  Sartoris  inter- 
rupted. "You  know  Peter  Crocker?  One 
of  the  best  over  a  country — went  down  to 
Cheltenham  and  rode  two  winners  the 
first  day.  On  the  second  he  rode  Halifax 
for  Lord  Melrose  in  the  big  Steeplechase 
— came  a  frightful  purler  at  the  water 
jump  and  was  insensible  for  a  week. 
When  he  recovered,  he  never  remembered 
his  two  winners,  as  a  fact  never  remem- 
bered being  at  Cheltenham  at  all — and 
never  remembered  any  of  his  bets!" 
109 


THE  WHIP 


Sir  Andrew  Beck  smiled,  as  he  remarked 
dryly — 

"That  might  have  been  convenient." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "but  he  had  to  pay  all  the 
same." 

"Fancy  paying  for  what  you  can't  re- 
member doing!"  Mrs.  D'Aquila  cried, 
aghast  at  such  a  financial  calamity. 

"That  might  easily  be  Lord  Brancaster's 
case,"  Sir  Andrew  continued.  "He  has 
had  a  bad  bout.  His  life  has  not  been  too 
regular — too  healthy." 

"You  mean,  Sir  Andrew,  that  in  any  case 
there  is  grave  danger?"  Mrs.  D'Aquila 
asked. 

"I  say  there  may  be,  Mrs.  D'Aquila.  If 
is  not  proper  that  I  should  disguise  it  from 
anyone  to  whom — er — to  whom — ' 

Mrs.  D'Aquila  did  not  wait  for  him  to 
finish. 

"His  life  is  very  dear  to  me,"  she  said, 
no 


MARRIAGE  MADE  EASY 

"I  have  always  asked  you  to  tell  me  the 
truth,  Sir  Andrew." 

Sir  Andrew  looked  at  her  with  serious- 
ness as  he  replied — 

"And  I  am  sure  you  won't  abuse  it  by 
any  undue  display  of  anxiety  should  you  be 
present  when  consciousness  returns — it  will 
be  essential  to  his  recovery  that  his  sur- 
roundings should  be  peaceful,  restful, 
happy." 

"I  hope  my  presence  will  never  mean 
anything  else,"  she  affirmed,  with  some 
trace  of  resentment. 

"Quite  so,"  and  Sir  Andrew  drew  out  his 
watch.  "And  now  if  you'll  excuse  me,  it's 
time  I  had  a  look  at  my  patient  and  dressed 
for  dinner.  Wonderful  what  an  appetite 
your  North  Country  air  gives  to  one.  We 
will  hope  there  will  be  better  news  to-mor- 
row. Good  evening."  And  he  walked 
slowly  on  in  the  direction  of  the  house, 
in 


THE  WHIP 


And  now  Mrs.  D'Aquila  sat  thinking 
over  his  words,  as  she  had  just  come  from 
the  chamber  of  Brancaster,  while  Sartoris, 
equally  thoughtful,  smoked  his  strong  and 
perpetual  cigarettes  at  her  side.  Finally 
the  woman  raised  her  eyes,  broodingly,  to 
his  thoughtful  face,  as  they  sat  together  on 
a  stone  bench, 

"Greville,"  she  said  somberly,  "I  have 
lost  my  chance." 

He  started. 

"Eh,  Nora,  what's  that?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  lost  my  chance — of  becoming — a! 
first-class  widow,"  she  said  in  deadly,  calm 
tones. 

"Whose?" 

"Brancaster's." 

"Rats." 

"Fact." 

"He'd  really  have  married  you?" 

"He  would." 

"Rubbish — I  beg  your  pardon." 
112 


MARRIAGE  MADE  EASY 

"Certainly,"  went  on  the  woman.  "You 
(don't  understand  Brancaster.  He's  a  'pre' 
something  or  other.  That's  where  I  come 
in.  I'm  long  and  I'm  lank — he  calls  it 
aesthetic.  I  dye  my  hair  puce — he  calls  it 
Titian  and  Burne-Jones.  I  can  pant  and 
whisper  at  the  piano  under  a  pink  lamp 
shade,  with  the  soft  pedals  down,  while  I 
look  unutterable  yearnings  into  space.  I 
can  babble  second-hand  philosophy — 
French  philosophy — in  the  moonlight. 
He  draws  and  he  paints  and,  like  most  men, 
he  is  romantic;  like  most  noblemen,  he  is 
chivalrous;  like  most  gentlemen,  he  is  gen- 
erous. He  thinks  I  have  been  misunder- 
stood and  harshly  judged.  I'm  certain  that 
if  some  day  I  got  him  in  the  right  mood,  in 
tears  and  a  teagown,  with  my  hair  down 
and  a  laudanum  bottle  on  the  mantelpiece, 
you  know — why,  one  day  it  was  as  near  as 
this." 

To  the  amazement  of  the  Captain  she  took 


THE  WHIP 


from  her  handbag  and  gave  to  him  a  special 
license  to  marry,  dated  but  a  month  before. 

Sartoris  set  bolt  upright  on  the  bench 
they  were  jointly  occupying. 

"Why  didn't  you?"  he  shot  out. 

"Some  rot  about  me  in  the  papers — er — " 
She  made  a  vague  gesture. 

"There's  more  in  about  you  this  morn- 
ing," he  said.  "You've  made  divorces 
rather  a  hobby,  haven't  you?" 

But  she  ignored  his  last  words. 

"I  could  have  talked  him  out  of  it,"  she 
went  on.  "Now  there'll  never  be  another 
chance.  It's  awfully  rough  luck.  I  might 
be  a  widow,  Lady  Brancaster,  if  anything 
happened  to-night.  Funny  situation  if  I'd 
married  him  last  week,  and  he  recovered, 
and  then  as  Sir  Andrew  said,  couldn't  re- 
member anything  he  had  done." 

There  was  a  period  of  silence  between 
them,  while  both  stared  straight  ahead. 
114 


MARRIAGE  MADE  EASY 

An  idea  seemed  to  be  in  the  air.  Neither 
afterward  knew  just  which  of  them  had 
thought  of  it  first.  But  after  a  moment 
they  turned  with  a  common  impulse  to  stare 
understandingly  at  each  other. 

"This,"  said  Sartoris,  tapping  the  paper, 
"this  would  remind  him.  I  wonder  if  he 
will  recover." 

Mrs.  D'Aquila  shook  her  head. 

"I  am  afraid — "  she  began. 

"If  he  didn't,  there  would  be  no  one  to 
question  anything  he'd  done — or  was  said  to 
have  done,"  the  Captain  interrupted. 

"Said  to  have  done?" 

"Yes.  You're  quite  sure  he  didn't  marry 
you?"  Sartoris  asked  his  companion,  look- 
ing at  her  intently. 

"Of  course!" 

"It  seems  such  a  pity,"  he  continued — 
"with  no  one  left  to  question  it  ...  You 
hard  up?" 

"5 


THE  WHIP 


"Very!"  was  the  emphatic  reply. 

"So  am  I,"  agreed  Greville  Sartoris, 
with  something  resembling  a  sigh. 

"I'd  a  notion  the  heiress — "  Mrs. 
D'Aquila  began,  nodding  toward  the 
house. 

"Tried,"  Sartoris  finished,  for  her.  "No 
go.  And  my  cousin  Beverley  won't  lend 
any  more,  and  I'm  in  a  tight  corner — 
shockingly  tight  corner."  It  was  usually  a 
difficult  matter  to  read  the  Captain's  face, 
but  on  this  occasion,  having  made  this  ex- 
ceedingly personal  revelation,  he  was  at  no 
pains  to  conceal  the  care  that  momentarily 
aged  his  handsome  features.  His  statement 
was  too  true. 

"Suppose — "  he  said  in  that  sinister 
fashion  he  had  at  times. 

"I  wouldn't  dare — "  she  countered. 

Then  their  eyes  met  and  clung  together 
in  a  glance  of  the  deepest  understanding. 

"I'm  devilishly  hard  up,"  he  said. 
116 


MARRIAGE  MADE  EASY 

"So  am  I,"  she  returned. 

Sartoris  swallowed  hard,  then  when  he 
began  to  speak  the  thought  that  was  vaguely 
in  both  their  minds,  his  first  words  were 
tremulous,  but  as  he  went  on  his  tones  be- 
came cold,  decidedly  emotionless. 

"Suppose  to-night  you  drive  up  in  your 
motor — to  a  village  church — and  the 
date  in  the  register  and  on  the  certificate 
were  put  back  ten  days  and  the  names  came 
out  as  yours  and  Brancaster's?"  he  asked. 

In  her  excitement,  now  that  their  hitherto 
unspoken  mutual  thought  was  out,  she  rose 
to  her  feet. 

"Impossible,"  she  exclaimed.  "The 
risk!" 

"What  risk?  A  bare  chance  of  recovery 
— and  none  of  memory.  You  heard  Sir 
Andrew.  He'll  never  be  able  to  deny  that 
he'd  married  you,  since  he  wouldn't  be  able 
to  remember  anything  that  had  happened 
during  this  period.  And  when  he'd  for- 
117 


THE  WHIP 


gotten,  the  special  license  and  the  marriage 
certificate  would  remind  him.  Where's 
your  pluck?" 

In  her  turn,  the  woman  clenched  her  fists 
and  swallowed  a  lump  in  her  throat. 

"Where's  your  parson?"  she  asked. 

•He  smiled  pleasantly  at  the  prospect. 

"How  much?"  she  asked  in  a  hard  voice, 
thinking  of  the  only  motive  that  could  im- 
pel him. 

With  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  Sartoris 
returned : 

"We  needn't  bargain.  I'll  see  to  my 
share." 

"Where's  your  parson?"  she  asked  again. 

As  if  in  answer  to  her  urgent  request  for 
a  spiritual  adviser,  the  Rev.  Verner  Has- 
lam  passed  along  the  terrace  on  his  return 
to  the  vicarage.  With  a  contemptuous 
gesture  Sartoris  indicated  the  man. 

"There  he  is,"  said  he — then  with  a  quick 
stride  he  passed  before  the  clergyman  and 
118 


MARRIAGE  MADE  EASY 

stood  directly  in  his  path,  while  the  woman 
sank  down  on  the  bench  again,  covering  for 
the  moment  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"Well,  Haslam,"  said  Sartoris,  leering 
into  the  other's  face,  "what  are  you  doing 
here?" 

Haslam  made  a  motion  toward  Falcon- 
hurst 

"I—"  he  began. 

"I  know  what  you  are  doing  at  Falcon- 
hurst,"  went  on  Sartoris.  "But  I  mean  in 
the  village?" 

"I  am  taking  the  vicar's  duty,"  he  said, 
as  his  head  sank  beneath  the  other's  con- 
tempt. 

"Has  the  vicar  any  idea  who  you  are?" 
came  brutally  from  the  Captain.  "Does  he 
know  you  are  a  drunkard  and  were  de- 
prived of  your  living?" 

For  one  brief  moment  Haslam  raised  his 
shamed  head. 

"My  bishop  knows — that  I  have  striven 
119 


THE  WHIP 


to  conquer  an  evil  habit — that  all  but 
ruined  me.  He  knows  that  I  am  striving 
to  win  back — " 

"And  what  else  does  he  know?"  broke 
in  Sartoris.  "You  have  several  other  little 
habits  that  aren't  a  credit  to  your  cloth. 
There  was  a  card  scandal  when  we  were 
in  Paris." 

"I  beg,  I  entreat  you — if  that  were 
known —  May  not  a  man  repent  sincerely 
of  everything?" 

"By  all  means  go  ahead — but  you'll  find 
that  that  is  rather  a  large  order.  Tell — 
me — any  marriages  in  your  church  lately?" 

"None — for  three  weeks,"  said  Haslam, 
glad  that  his  tormentor  seemed  turning 
from  his  immediate  object. 

In  a  seemingly  happy  humor  Sartoris 
slapped  the  man  of  the  robe  on  his  back. 

"Capital,"  he  ejaculated.  "No  dates  in 
the  register  for  three  weeks!  Now,  if  a 
marriage  took  place  and  somehow — owing 
120 


MARRIAGE  MADE  EASY 

to  your  habits — names  got  a  bit  muddled 
and  dates  a  bit  set  back — couldn't  you  in- 
clude it  in  your  list  of — er — regrettable  rem- 
iniscences?" 

"Include — "  stammered  Haslam. 

"That,"  said  Sartoris  forcefully,  handing 
to  him  the  license  to  marry. 

"Brancaster,"  gasped  the  curate.  "Bran- 
caster,  whom  I've  just  left — " 

"Dying  probably,"  went  on  Sartoris, 
"leaving  undone  what  he  meant  to  do — 
leaving  a  great  wrong  to  a  woman."  There 
now  came  into  the  voice  of  Sartoris  a  great 
irony.  While  he  seemed  to  be  framing  a 
plausible  argument  to  Haslam,  still  his 
tone  implied  that  he  himself  understood 
how  specious  it  all  was,  and  his  irony  was 
directed  not  alone  at  himself  but  at  Haslam, 
Mrs.  D'Aquila  and,  indeed,  the  whole 
world  in  general.  "I'm  not  a  knight  Pala- 
din, but  I  want  to  put  it  right.  In  the  sud- 
den extremity  there  is  only  one  way.  There 
121 


THE  WHIP 


will  be  no  one  to  question — most  people 
think  it's  done  already — but  because  it  isn't 
is  the  woman  to  be  left  in — er — shame? 
I'll  save  her" — again  the  irony  in  spite  of 
himself — "if  you'll  help  me.  Can't  I  ap- 
peal to  your  better  self?" 

"It's  fraud,  it's  crime,"  Haslam  said,  his 
whole  figure  seeming  united  in  a  strange 
trembling. 

This  time  Sartoris  openly  sneered  as  he 
went  on  with  his  appeal  "to  your  better 
nature,"  for  he  was  sure  of  this  weakling. 

"No  —  justice  —  mercy  —  pity !  You've 
asked  me  for  pity  and  mercy.  What  is 
your  answer  when  I  ask  them  from  you?" 

"Heaven  forgive  me,"  came  from  Has- 
lam. 

In  reply  Sartoris  drawled  out: 

"Strange  way  of  putting  it." 

The    weakling    again    hesitated    as    he 
thought  of  the  consequences  of  exposure  if 
exposure  came  from  Sartoris.     He  loved  to 
122 


MARRIAGE  MADE  EASY 

minister  to  the  wealthy  and  nobly  born. 
And,  failing  that,  he  would  be  submerged. 

"If — if  I  were  sure — "  he  faltered. 

Sartoris  slapped  him  on  the  back. 

"You  have  my  assurance.  You  Have 
heard  my  request.  I've  heard  yours. 
What  do  we  both  answer?"  Sartoris  asked. 

Haslam  looked  at  him.  But  he  did  not 
dare  to  trust  to  words.  He  bowed  assent 
slowly. 

"I'll  send  you  a  note,"  concluded  Sar- 
toris. "It  will  be  to-night.  Be  ready." 

Again  Haslam  bowed.  Then  he  left 
them. 

Instantly  Mrs.  D'Aquila  came  toward 
Sartoris  as  he  lighted  a  new  cigarette. 

"What  have  you  said?  What  have  you 
done?"  she  asked  in  the  deepest  agitation. 

There  was  extreme  confidence  in  the 
smile  of  Sartoris,  a  confidence  so  great  that 
it  spread  to  her,  as  he  replied: 

"Saved  you,  dear  Lady  Brancaster — if 
123 


THE  WHIP 


you've  got  the  pluck  to  face  it — once  more 
you'll  be  a  legally  wedded  wife.  The 
harmless  necessary  parson  has  been  found." 

"But  the  bridegroom?" 

He  bowed  so  deeply  that  she  could  see 
the  whole  line  of  the  parting  of  his  hair. 

"For  this  occasion  only — that's  where  I 
come  in,"  he  said  flippantly. 


124 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  WOMAN  SCORNED 

LORD  BRANCASTER,  now  well  on  the  road 
to  recovery,  lay  in  a  large  seat  in  the  loggia 
of  Falconhurst,  looking  almost  tenderly  at 
Lady  Diana,  who  had  come  to  him  with 
her  basket  of  daffodils,  in  her  self-imposed 
task  of  putting  flowers  in  all  of  the  old 
carved  stone  vases  about  the  great  house. 

Brancaster  thanked  her  for  her  kindness. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  I  thought  per- 
haps you  were  asleep,"  Lady  Diana  said, 
smiling  as  she  looked  around  at  him. 

"And  dreaming,  eh?  No;  only  day- 
dreams. I  was  thinking  .  .  ." 

"Of  what?"  she  asked,  idly,  as  she  busied 
herself  with  her  basket. 

"Of  what  a  beautiful  world  it  is  ...  of 
how  good  it  is  to  be  alive  on  a  day  like  this 
125 


THE  WHIP 


...  of  how  splendid  it  is  to  be  getting  well 
again."  And  Brancaster  looked  out  across 
the  great  lawn,  and  up  at  the  blue  morn- 
ing sky,  and  drew  a  deep  breath  of  content. 

"Yes,  you've  made  a  wonderful  recov- 
ery. A  fortnight  ago.  .  ."  Lady  Diana 
stopped  rather  painfully. 

"They  didn't  think  I'd  pull  through, 
eh?" 

"No.  Sir  Andrew  Beck  says  that  you've 
been  as  near  death  as  a  man  could  be  with- 
out actually  dying." 

"And  now  I've  been  won  back  from  the 
gates  of  death — thanks  to  you." 

Lady  Diana  glanced  up  quickly  as  she 
caught  the  emphasis  Brancaster  gave  the 
final  word. 

"I  wasn't  your  only  nurse,"  she  reminded 
him. 

"But  you  were  the  one.  It  was  your 
touch  that  brought  peace  and  your  presence 
126 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED 


that  brought  sunshine;  it  was  you  who 
called  me  back  to  life  and  made  me  want 
to  live  again." 

"I — I  am  glad  to  think  that,"  she  fal- 
tered. 

"You  may  be — it's  your  work.  And  now 
I'm  nearly  well  again — so  well,  that  I  feel 
like  a  fraud  for  continuing  to  play  the  in- 
valid— so  well,  that  I  ought — to  go  away." 

"Why?  You  know  you're  very  welcome 
here,"  Lady  Diana  told  him,  ignoring,  as 
women  will,  the  intense  quality  that  marked 
the  young  man's  voice. 

"I  know  you've  made  me  so,"  he  an- 
swered, gratefully. 

"Grandfather  and  I?  Why  not?  Of 
course  we  should  do  that.  And — oh! — 
here's  your  sketch  book,"  she  finished, 
somewhat  lamely,  with  an  apparent  effort 
to  divert  the  conversation  into  other  chan- 
nels. 

127 


THE  WHIP 


"So  it  is!  But — how  did  you  get  it  into 
your  hands?"  Brancaster  asked,  taking  the 
book  from  her. 

"Well,  you  had  it  with  you  in  the  car." 

"Had  I?"  he  exclaimed,  turning  the  flat 
volume  over  and  examining  it  curiously. 

"Of  course  you  had,"  she  replied,  with 
quite  a  shade  of  wonder  at  the  question. 

He  opened  the  book  and  turned  its  pages. 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"These  studies  of  hounds — they  look  like 
my  work,  but  I  can't  recall  making  them. 
And  here's  one  I'll  swear  I  never  did." 

Lady  Diana  looked  over  his  shoulder. 

"Dido?"  she  said.  "No,  I  did  that. 
Don't  you  remember?" 

Brancaster  put  his  hand  to  his  head  in 
dazed  fashion. 

"No,"  he  said. 

"You'd  been  sketching  near  the  kennels," 
128 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED 


she  continued.     "We  first  met  there,  don't 
you  remember?" 

"I  can't  remember  a  thing  about  it!"  ex- 
claimed Brancaster,  his  head  in  a  whirl  as 
he  found  that  all  that  had  happened  im- 
mediately prior  to  his  accident  had  van- 
ished from  his  memory. 

"Sir  Andrew  said  that  for  some  time  your 
memory  would  be  confused,"  the  girl  said. 

"It's  hard  not  to  recall  the  best  mornings 
of  one's  life,"  said  the  young  Earl.  "I  wish 
the  accident  had  blotted  out  the  worst,  so 
that  you  could  never  hear  of  them." 

"I  do  not  believe  all  I  have  heard,"  said 
the  girl. 

"Tell  me  what  you've  heard  and  I'll  say 
if  it's  true." 

"I've  heard  you  gamble,"  said  the  girl, 
in  whom  there  was  a  strong  moral  sense. 

"At   times,"   he   confessed,    "when    life 
seems  very  meaningless." 
129 


THE  WHIP 


"That  you  are  extravagant— 

"What's  money  for?"  he  asked  lightly, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"Not  to  be  wasted — squandered — till  you 
are   embarrassed — I   beg  your   pardon — 
And  she  stopped  short,  realizing  that  she 
had  no  right  to  say  such  words. 

"Till  I'm  nearly  broke,"  said  Brancaster, 
< — "quite  right — and  nothing  to  show  for  it. 
I  shall  be  a  beggar  some  day — die  in  the 
gutter — and  serve  me  right." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"That's  not  worthy!  If  you  see  you 
were  wrong  there's  time  to  go  right.  And 
you  should  go.  If  you've  been  stupid,  I 
am  sure  there  was  some  excuse."  She 
looked  at  him  kindly,  and  there  was  in  her 
heart  the  earnest  desire  to  help  this  new 
found  friend. 

"Only  the  old  one — a  young  fool  should 
not  be  his  own  master.     My  mother  died 
when  I  was  born — my  father,  when  I  was 
130 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED 


a  child.  I  was  a  minor  with  too  much 
money  and  I  went  the  pace — downhill — all 
the  time — with  every  hand  to  help  me." 
Brancaster's  voice  was  a  bit  sad  and  a 
melancholy  expression  played  about  his  mo- 
bile mouth. 

"Ah! — if  there  had  only  been  a  sister's 
hand!"  And  Lady  Diana  looked  at  him 
wistfully. 

"Yes,  but  no  good  woman  ever  came  into 
my  life  till  I  met  you.  Your  hand  has 
given  me  new  life." 

"You  make  too  much  of  it,"  she  said 
simply,  turning  aside  for  a  moment  to  hide 
the  embarrassment  she  could  not  but  feel. 

"The  giver  or  the  gift?"  he  asked.  "I've 
made  little  enough  of  life,  so  far!" 

"Couldn't  you  in  the  future?"  Her  voice 
carried  with  it  a  gentleness  that  was  almost 
a  caress. 

"Is — that  your  wish?"  For  a  man  who 
had  but  lately  been  at  death's  door,  Lord 
131 


THE  WHIP 


Brancaster   showed    surprising    animation. 

"Indeed — from  my  heart,"  she  told  him. 

His  face  lighted  suddenly  and  he  said: 

"Then  the  past  does  not  make  you  utterly 
despise  me?" 

"Of  course  not.  It  only  makes  me — sad. 
Very — very  sorry." 

"For  me  or  my  folly?"  and  he  looked  at 
her  with  a  gratitude  that  was  unquestion- 
able. 

"Both.     It  all  seems  such  a  pity!" 

"Could  your  pity  ever  be  akin  to — " 

"To  hope?     It  is  that  now." 

The  fearless  gaze  of  the  "cleanest  sports- 
woman in  all  England,"  inspired  Bran- 
caster.  Hurriedly  and  hopefully,  yet  fear- 
fully, he  went  on : 

"And  if  hope  were  justified — if  you  saw 
that  a  man  could  shake  off  the  past — re- 
trieve— repair — hold  up  his  head  and  come 
to  you  with  clean  hands  and  a  clean  heart 
—would  you  let  him  say  to  you — " 
132 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED 


The  sudden  entrance  of  a  servant  put 
an  end  to  what  was  in  his  heart  and 
mind. 

"Mrs.  D'Aquila,"  announced  the  menial. 

Brancaster  shrugged  angry  shoulders. 

"You'd  rather  be  alone,"  suggested  Lady 
Diana. 

"Yes — and  I  shall  be  in  a  few  moments," 
answered  Brancaster. 

"I'll  come  to  you  when  you  are,"  said 
Lady  Diana,  and  was  gone. 

A  moment  later  Mrs.  D'Aquila  was  ad- 
vancing toward  him  with  outstretched 
hands. 

"Ah,  dear  Hubert,"  she  exclaimed,  and 
then  stopped  short  as  she  saw  that  he  took 
almost  involuntarily  a  few  backward  steps 
from  her.  "What  is  the  matter,  Hubert?" 

"Nothing,"  returned  Brancaster.  "Won't 
you  sit  down?" 

She  obeyed  his  hand  gesture,  and  sat 
down. 


THE  WHIP 


"Well,  now,"  she  continued,  "tell  me  how 
you  are." 

His  manner  was  cold  as  he  replied, 

"Practically  quite  well  again — at  least  I 
shall  soon  be — Sir  Andrew  has  gone." 

While  his  manner  was  cold  and  the  wo- 
man must  have  seen  plainly  that  he  wished 
to  break  with  her  there  was  no  consciousness 
of  such  knowledge  in  her  voice  and  manner 
as  she  exclaimed : 

"Poor  darling!  I'm  so  glad.  Doctors  are 
sweet  persons,  but  a  hateful  nuisance." 

"I  owe  my  life  to  them — and  er — to  my 
nurses,"  he  said  warmly. 

"Dear  things,"  she  said,  "but  I  should 
have  nursed  you  better.  You  don't  know 
what  misery  it  was  to  think  of  you  lying 
there  between  life  and  death  among  stran- 
gers." 

"They  cared  for  me  like  the  best  of 
friends,"  said  Brancaster  warmly. 

"Quite    sweet   of    theml"   went   on   the 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED 


woman.  "But  it  was  I  who  should  have 
been  with  you — it  was  my  right,  my  duty, 
given  me  by  our  love.  What  should  I  have 
done  if  anything  had  happened — if  I  had 
been  left  alone?" 

She  touched  his  shoulder  with  the  light- 
est of  pressure,  yet  it  was  exceedingly  re- 
pugnant to  him  and  he  squirmed  in  his  seat, 
finally  arising. 

"Nonsense!  YouVe  plenty  of  friends, 
Nora,"  he  exclaimed,  annoyed. 

"Friends?"  she  responded  in  a  peculiar 
inflection. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on  hurriedly,  but  still 
firmly.  "You  always  had  before  we  met, 
and  will  again  after — "  Even  he*  could  not 
yet  finish  the  sentence. 

"After — what?"  she  asked,  leaning  far 
over  toward  him. 

Brancaster  took  a  deep  breath  and  nerved 
himself. 

"After  youVe  forgotten  my  existence,"  he 


THE  WHIP 


said.  "Friends  who'll  amuse  you  for  the 
day,  entertain  you,  invite  you  here  and 
there,  for  this  race  week,  or  that  season,  as 
I  did." 

"Did?"  she  asked,  repeating  the  past 
tense  meaningly. 

"Yes,"  went  on  B'rancaster,  affecting  not 
to  notice.  "When  you  were  tired  with 
town  and  wanted  rest  and  quiet  in  the  coun- 
try." 

The  woman's  voice  now  became  low,  in- 
tense, and  full  of  a  sinister  threat. 

"Was  that  quite  the  spirit  of  your  invita- 
tions, your  letters — your  protestations?"  she 
asked  quietly. 

Brancaster  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Oh,  well — surely — no  midsummer  mad- 
ness is  expected  to  live  through  an  autumn," 
he  said  firmly. 

The  woman  was  now  on  her  feet  and 
quite  close  to  him  while  her  eyes  fairly 
blazed  into  his. 

136 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED 


"What  are  you  trying  to  tell  me,  Hu- 
bert?" she  demanded. 

"That — that  when  a  man  has  been  as 
near  to  death  as  I  have,"  he  continued,  "he 
learns  to  look  at  life  differently — more 
clearly — and — " 

She  broke  in  with: 

"Stuff!  When  the  devil  was  sick,  the 
devil  a  saint  would  be!'  You've  a  fit  of 
the  dismals — and  I  don't  wonder — after  a 
month  of  prunes  and  prisms  in  a  place  like 
this !  Come  back  to  the  Rievers — we'll  ask 
some  cheery  people  down  to  stay — you'll  be 
yourself  again." 

"I  am  not  coming  back  to  the  Rievers," 
he  said  shortly. 

"Eh?  Well,  it  is  gloomy.  Much  jollier 
to  meet  again  in  town." 

"No,"  he  said. 

"Then  where?" 

"Nowhere,"  he  replied.  "We  can't  meet 
again  at  all." 

137 


THE  WHIP 


"Can't?  Why?"  she  asked,  ready  for  the 
clash. 

"All  that's  over,  Nora,"  he  said.  "I'm 
sorry,  but  it's  best  to  say  it  out.  I've  de- 
termined between  us  this  to-day  is  'good- 
by.' " 

"Do  you  forget  that  you  asked  me  to  be 
your  wife?"  she  said. 

"That  was  before — "  he  began  and 
paused. 

"Before  a  pack  of  lies  were  published  in 
the  papers,"  she  finished  for  him;  "innuen- 
does— suspicions  that  I  was  never  called  to 
answer — that  were  only  half  believed  be- 
cause— because — you  know  how  defenseless 
a  woman  is — nothing  was  proved!  Did  I 
ever  deceive  you  about  myself?  I  told  you 
everything — " 

"Everything?" 

"Yes." 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "but  I  do  not  re- 
member— the  statements  I  read  about  you 
138 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED 


last  week,  you  did  not  explain.  I  remember 
no  explanation  from  you." 

"You  do  not  remember  many  things  that 
happened  before  your  accident — as  Sir  An- 
drew said,"  she  replied. 

"Some  trifles — certainly,"  he  responded. 

"Trifles!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  forget 
that  you  confirmed  your  promise  to  me. 
Hubert,  whatever  the  world  says  of  me, 
thinks  of  me,  you  were  different.  I  told  you 
all.  You  knew — and  understood.  Shan't 
we  walk  down  the  old  paths  together  again? 
Won't  you  lead  me  to  the  new  life,  the  hope 
you  promised?" 

"Nora,  forgive  me,"  said  Brancaster,  in 
deep  agitation,  "but  whatever  I  promised  I 
did  not  then  know — " 

But  the  woman  interrupted  savagely: 

"That  you'd  meet  Di  Sartoris,  a  chit  of  a 
girl  simpering  over  a  sick  man,  and  fall  in 
love  with  her!" 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it — "  he 
139 


THE  WHIP 


said,  resentful  that  Lady  Diana's  name  had 
been  brought  into  their  conversation. 

"It  was  everything,"  she  asserted. 

"Very  well,  then,  have  it  your  own  way," 
hesaid.  "Ifl'vebeenafool — I'llstopintime. 
There's  the  truth — and  that  is — good-by." 

To  the  relief  of  Brancaster  a  servant  en- 
tered and  gave  him  a  note  which  he  saw  at 
once  had  been  written  by  Beverley. 

"I  was  to  ask  your  lordship,  to  read  it  at 
once,"  the  servant  said  and  withdrew. 

With  a  muttered  apology  Brancaster  tore 
open  the  envelope,  and  then,  having  par- 
tially read  the  note,  looked  keenly  at  Mrs. 
D'Aquila. 

"About  me?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"Pray  read  it,"  she  said  with  a  shrug  of  in- 
idifference. 

Brancaster  read  aloud : 

"I  do  not  wish  to  seem  personally  dis- 
courteous to  your  guest,  and  I  am  very  sen- 
140 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED 


sible  of  the  consideration  due  to  the  feelings 
of  a  woman,  but  I  trust  her  visit  to-day  will 
be  a  short  one,  and  I  must  ask  you  to  let  her 
understand,  with  as  little  offense  as  may  be, 
that  now  you  are  recovered,  her  visits  here 
must  cease.  I  hoped  her  own  common 
sense  would  have  prompted  her  not  to  call 
again,  but  since  she  has  you  must  make  it 
clear  that  I  cannot  receive  a  lady  whose  ex- 
act position  and  relation  to  yourself  I  can- 
not explain  to  my  granddaughter  Di." 

The  woman  stopped  him  with  a  furious 
gesture. 

"Thanks,"  she  said  savagely.  "So  it's 
once  more  again  Di  ?  I  am  to  be  humiliated 
for  Di!  Insulted  for — Di!  Thrown  over 
by  you — turned  out  by  him — for — Di! 
Very  well!  Tell  him  what  I  tell  you,  that 
when  next  we  meet  I  trust  I  shall  be  able  to 
explain  correctly  the  precise  nature  of  my 
position  and  relation — to — him — and  to  you 
—and  to— Di!" 

141 


CHAPTER  X 

AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST 

THERE  was  only  laughter  and  jovial  clink- 
ing of  glasses  as  Beverley  entertained  the 
hunt  at  breakfast  in  the  great  hall  of  Falcon- 
hurst,  while  outside  the  hounds  were  being 
prepared  for  a  big  meet.  The  men  in  their 
red  coats  seemed  so  many  figures  stepped 
out  of  the  frames  of  the  portraits  on  the  walls 
behind  them. 

But  at  one  end  of  the  table  a  little  with- 
drawn from  their  neighbors  the  Rev.  Verner 
Haslam  and  Captain  Sartoris  were  talking. 
The  clergyman  looked  anxiously  up  and 
down  the  board. 

"Where's  Brancaster?"  he  asked,  his  un- 
easy conscience  troubling  him. 

But  Sartoris  was  perfectly  at  his  ease  and 
the  other's  anxious  tones  passed  by  him. 

"Oh,  he's  driven  down  to  the  station,"  he 
142 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST 

returned  in  a  casual  tone.  "He's  been  fuss- 
ing all  the  morning  about  a  parcel  or  some- 
thing he  wanted  from  town." 

"He's  quite  recovered?"  asked  Haslam. 

"They  think  so.  Talks  of  hunting  to- 
day," said  Sartoris. 

"But  his  mind — his  memory?"  the  uneasy 
clergyman  asked. 

Sartoris  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  their 
well-fitting  red  coat. 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"When  the  vicar  returns  he'll  read  that — 
that  entry  in  the  marriage  register,"  he  said, 
glancing  uneasily  up  the  table. 

"Brancaster's  marriage,"  returned  the 
other.  "Well — didn't  he  marry?" 

"You  know — "  began  Haslam. 

"Pardon  me.     I  know  nothing." 

"You  signed  for  him,"  persisted  Haslam. 

"No.     You  wrote  his  name." 

"But  the  work.    The  cross  against  it — " 

Sartoris  was  visibly  annoyed. 
143 


THE  WHIP 


"Brancaster's  wrist  was  injured  at  the 
time,"  he  said.  "Dash  it!  We  must  be  ar- 
tistic— he  couldn't  write." 

"What  does  it  matter?  The  thing  is 
there,"  groaned  the  substitute  vicar. 

"Quite  so — in  perfectly  legal  form,"  said 
Sartoris  firmly. 

"He  will  know  it's  false,"  said  the  con- 
science-stricken Haslam. 

"Never!  He  never  can  or  will — unless 
you  tell  him,"  said  the  Captain.  "Do  you 
want  to  add  a  memory  of  jail  to  your  other 
reminiscences?  Beastly  place!  My  dear 
fellow,  for  once  in  our  lives  we've  done  a 
good  action.  Don't  be  afraid  of  it.  We've 
bought  justice  for  a  woman.  She'll  stick 
to  it.  I  shall  stick  to  it.  You  stick  to  it. 
You  can't  be  found  out — so  be  noble. 
You'll  have  a  jolly  bad  time  if  you  don't." 

The  other  shuddered. 

"But  will  she  make  her  claim — publicly 
• — soon?"  he  asked. 

144 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST 

Sartoris  took  a  puff  at  the  cigarette  be- 
tween his  lips  as  he  returned : 

"Can't  say.  She  never  meant  to  while  he 
lived.  She  was  anticipating — er — weeds, 
don't  you  see?  Now  the  situation's 
changed.  If  he  jilts  her  she  may  be  jealous 
— perhaps  resentful — and  well,  if  the  crash 
comes  sooner  or  later — it's  all  one  to  you, 
my  dear  Haslam — d'you  see?  You've  got 
to  stick  to  it." 

Beverley  now  rapped  on  the  table  and 
gradually  the  company  of  men  settled  into 
their  places. 

"The  season's  over,"  said  the  Marquis, 
"and  this  is  our  last  meet.  Now  those  beastly 
violets  are  sprouting  in  the  garden — our  last 
meet  and  the  last  time  I  shall  hunt  the 
hounds.  The  Beverleys  have  hunted  from 
Falconhurst  for  over  two  hundred  years" — 
he  paused  to  let  the  applause  subside — "and 
so  they  will  as  long  as  a  Beverley  lives,  a 
Beverley'll  be  their  master.  But  Beverley 
145 


THE  WHIP 


has  no  son  to  come  after  him.  He  died  as 
a  Beverley  should  for  his  country.  He's 
jiot  here  to  be  my  deputy.  So,  gentlemen, 
it  lies  with  you  to  say  who  shall.  You  want 
young  blood  to  hunt  good  hounds — I'll  find 
them  all  right — but  we  want  a  deputy  mas- 
ter— one  you'll  all  follow — one  the  country 
knows — one  who'll  hunt  the  Beverley  as  a 
good  sportsman  should — and  as  you  who  sit 
around  me  are  good  sportsmen  one  and  all, 
I've  called  you  all  together  to  leave  the 
choice  to  you." 

At  this  moment  the  young  Earl  of  Bran- 
caster  entered  and  took  his  seat  at  the  table 
of  Beverley.  Instantly  there  were  shouts 
of  "Brancaster"  and  Captain  Raynor  got  to 
his  feet  quickly  with : 

"In  the  old  days  it  was  the  rule  when  the 
master  at  Falconhurst  came  a  cropper,  it 
was  the  master  of  Rievers  who  hunted  the 
hounds.  It  has  been  his  turn  to  come  crop- 
pers lately.  But  now,  as  we  all  rejoice  to 
146 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST 

see,  he's  fit  and  well  again,  and  standing  at 
Lord  Beverley's  right  hand.  Could  a  bet- 
ter man  take  the  whip  than  Lord  Brancas- 
ter?" 

As  amid  cheers  that  followed  this  speech, 
Lady  Diana  and  the  women  of  the  hunt  in 
full  field  costume  entered  and  grouped 
themselves  on  the  stairs  to  hear  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  speeches,  Brancaster  arose  and 
with  a  bow  to  the  company  began  in  a  low 
voice  which  gradually  increased  in  power: 

"Gentlemen,  you  pay  me  a  very  high  com- 
pliment, but  I  am  afraid  I  don't  deserve  it. 
To  command  the  support  of  the  Beverley 
Hunt,  I  have  not  yet  proved  that  I  can  ride 
hard  enough  or  as  straight  as  I  shall  when 
I  follow  the  lead  that  I  am  certain  will 
appeal  most  nearly  to  you — the  lead  you 
would  follow  to  the  hardest  finish  in  the 
world — the  lead,  not  of  a  deputy  master,  for 
there  is  none  here  fitted  to  take  that  place — 
but  the  lead  that  is  given  in  some  counties 


THE  WHIP 


by  the  Mistress  of  the  Hounds.  Gentlemen, 
let  us  follow  that  example  and  declare  by 
acclamation  to-day  that  Lady  Diana  Sar- 
toris  is  the  chosen  Deputy  Mistress  of  the 
Beverley  Hounds." 

Only  the  greatest  positive  and  affirmative 
shouts  greeted  this  declaration,  and,  encour- 
aged by  it,  Brancaster  walked  slowly  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairway,  and  took  from  his 
pocket  a  jewel  case  containing  a  miniature 
whip  in  diamonds,  the  package  he  had  been 
fuming  about  in  the  morning. 

"Lady  Diana,"  he  said  to  the  young  girl 
above  him,  "you  have  heard  the  decision  of 
the  hunt.  May  I  beg  that  on  their  behalf 
you  will  accept — the  whip?" 

And  he  gave  to  Lady  Diana  the  glittering 
diamond  whip. 

Lady  Diana  was  plainly  moved,  and  there 
seemed  tears  of  pride  and  joy  in  her  eyes  as 
she  answered: 

"Gentlemen — I — I — if  you  really  wish  it 
148 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST 

• — then  as  long  as  you  wish  it — I  will  do  my 
best  to  hunt  as  hard  and  ride  as  straight  as 
a  Sartoris  should — I  thank  you  very  much 
— and  I'll  hold  the  whip  you  give  me  till  it 
— it  can  go  into  better  hands." 

Overjoyed  at  the  turn  of  events  the  old 
Marquis  hastened  to  the  table,  filled  a  big 
bumper  and  then  motioned  to  all  the  com- 
pany to  do  the  same. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  cried,  "the 
hounds  wait!  It's  time  for  a  stirrup  cup! 
Fill  your  glasses !  I  give  you  a  toast." 

Cries  of  "the  Whip"  and  "Lady  Di" 
greeted  him. 

"Yes,  the  Whip  and  Lady  Di,"  he  said, 
"and  not  only  the  Whip  and  my  dear  Di — 
for  the  Whip  may  soon  have  a  new  handle 
to  its  name — " 

A  general  murmur  greeted  this  statement. 

"Falconhurst  and  Rievers  may  be  bound 
by  a  new  thong,"  went  on  Beverley.  "On  a 
day  like  this  it's  a  great  pleasure  to  ask  you 
149 


THE  WHIP 


to  drink  not  only  to  your  new  Whip — to  my 
grandchild  Di — but  to  the  future — " 

The  strident  tones  of  a  big  footman  at  the 
'door  interrupted  him,  or  rather  inserted 
themselves  into  the  pause  he  had  intended 
to  be  impressive. 

The  footman's  word  completed  the  Mar- 
quis's sentence,  but  they  also  gave  a  sinister 
threat,  a  tragic  turn  to  the  happy  course  of 
events. 

"Lady  Brancaster,"  announced  the  foot- 
man, while  all  turned  their  eyes  to  the  door- 
way to  behold  Mrs.  D'Aquila  smiling 
coldly. 


150 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  POOR  DESSERT 

FOR  a  moment  there  was  a  general  silence 
after  half  the  company  had  got  to  its  feet. 
Haslam  moved  toward  Sartoris  as  if  he  re- 
quired the  assisting  strength  of  his  person- 
ality. Beverley  turned  toward  the  woman 
standing  there  coolly  self-possessed. 

"Madam!"  he  exclaimed. 

In  a  most  decided  drawing-room  manner 
Mrs.  D'Aquila  faced  him. 

"Lord  Beverley,  pray  forgive  this — er — * 
intrusion,"  she  said  sweetly.  "Certain  ru- 
mors having  reached  my  ears,  I  had  come 
to  ask  for  a  private  talk,  with  a  view  to  ob- 
viating a  public  scandal.  But,  happily — - 
or  unhappily — I  have  just  heard  the  words 
that  have  fallen  from  your  lips.  Therefore, 
though  I  regret  the  pain  that  I  may  cause, 


THE  WHIP 


it  is  due  to  myself  that  I  should  speak  here 
as  publicly  as  you  have  spoken,  and  say — • 
that  I  am  Lord  Brancaster's  wife." 

Brancaster  started  forward,  his  hand  at 
his  forehead  as  he  struggled  to  regain  mem- 
ory of  the  last  days  before  his  accident 
"Wife?"  he  almost  shouted.     "It's  a  lie!" 
Lady   Diana  had   gone  straight  to   her 
grandfather  and,  ready  to  fly  to  the  refuge 
of  his  arms,  stood  close  to  him. 

"Madam,"  said  Beverley  in  deep  pain,  "if 
this  is  some  ill-timed  piece  of  bravado — 
some  attempt- 
But  Mrs.  D'Aquila  took  the  words  from 
his  mouth. 

"It  was  an  attempt  to  save  your  grand- 
daughter humiliation,"  she  said,  "Lord  Bev- 
erley; perhaps  something  worse.  It  is  now 
an  endeavor  to  assist  you  in  explaining  to  her 
exactly  my  position  in  this  house." 

While  Lady  Diana's  eyes  followed  Bran- 
caster  wistfully,    despairingly,   the   young 
152 


A  POOR  DESSERT 


Earl  turned  to  the  company  of  his  friends 
and  neighbors. 

"Gentlemen,  on  my  honor — "  he  ex- 
ploded, "Beverley,  this  is  an  outrage!  Turn 
this  woman  out." 

Beverley  seemed  half  inclined  to  take  the 
hot-headed  suggestion  of  his  neighbor  and 
act  upon  it. 

"Mrs.  D'Aquila,— "  he  began. 

"That  is  not  my  name,"  she  said  firmly. 
"You  don't  believe  it?" 

"I  believe  Brancaster,"  said  the  racing 
Marquis,  clasping  the  hand  of  the  younger 
man. 

Suddenly  the  woman  held  out  to  him  a 
paper. 

"Then  read  that,"  she  ordered. 

Beverley,  without  taking  the  document 
into  his  own  hand,  looked  at  it  as  though 
it  were  a  thing  which  might  scorch  him.  It 
was  plainly  a  marriage  certificate. 

"Great  Heavens!"  he  exclaimed. 
153 


THE  WHIP 


But  Brancaster  had  been  looking  over  his 
shoulder. 

"It's  forged — it's  false.  You  know  it," 
he  almost  shouted  into  the  face  of  the  smil- 
ing woman. 

Lord  Beverley  gave  another  long  look  at 
the  document  and  read  there  the  signature 
of  the  Rev.  Verner  Haslam.  He  walked 
slowly  toward  the  clergyman,  but  not  before 
Sartoris  had  whispered  to  him  savagely: 

"Stick  to  it." 

Lord  Beverley  now  had  the  paper  in  his 
own  hands  and  he  passed  it  to  Haslam. 

"Mr.  Haslam,  is  this  true?"  he  asked. 

But  Verner  Haslam  did  not  look  at  the 
document.  Speaking  with  the  greatest  pos- 
sible effort  he  slightly  bowed,  as  he  answered 
in  a  low  tone : 

"That  is  my  signature,  Lord  Beverley." 

His  manifest  difficulty  in  speaking  only 
strengthened  his  assertion,  as  all  present 
thought  that  the  clergyman  hesitated  merely 
154 


A  POOR  DESSERT 


because  he  found  a  very  unpleasant  duty  be- 
fore him. 

But  Haslam  was  not  to  escape  without 
telling  a  real  falsehood. 

"It  can't  be,  Beverley — Di — I  swear,"  be- 
gan Brancaster  and  stopped. 

But  Beverley  paid  no  further  attention  to 
the  pale  young  girl.  To  the  clergyman  he 
turned,  asking: 

"And  it's  true  that  you  married  them — • 
that  they  are  man  and  wife?" 

Again  Haslam  bowed,  and  then  as  he  felt 
the  cold  menacing  eyes  of  Sartoris  on  him 
he  managed  to  add  a  hoarse: 

"Yes." 

With  a  half  sob  and  a  scream,  Lady  Diana 
flung  herself  into  the  arms  of  Lord  Bever- 
ley. The  old  man  gathered  her  closely  to 
himself,  and  then  glowered  upon  the  smiling 
Mrs.  D'Aquila  and  the  stricken  Brancaster 
equally. 

"You  hound,"  he  said  sternly  to  Brancas- 
155 


THE  WHIP 


ter,  "you,  knowing  this,  come  here  and 
would  have —  Out  of  my  sight,  both  of 
you —  Turn  this  woman  and  this  black- 
guard out  of  my  house  I" 


CHAPTER  XII 

BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

THREE  weeks  after  the  hunt  breakfast  at  Fal- 
conhurst  had  ended  so  disastrously  for  Bran- 
caster  and  Lady  Diana,  Sartoris  and  Mrs. 
D'Aquila  met  in  a  corridor  of  the  stables  at 
the  London  horse  show. 

Sartoris  had  been  making  secret  signals 
to  the  woman  as  she  sat  in  a  box  with  a  party 
of  her  Bohemian  friends. 

"Ah,  at  last!"  he  exclaimed  in  relief,  hur- 
rying to  meet  her  as  she  came  down  the  cor- 
ridor. 

Mrs.  D'Aquila  glanced  to  the  right  and 
to  the  left  as  she  walked  swiftly  along.  Her 
name  and  face  were  in  every  newspaper  in 
the  United  Kingdom  because  of  the  great 
D'Aquila-Brancaster  case,  begun  when  she 
started  her  suit  to  prove  her  marriage. 
157 


THE  WHIP 


"I  could  not  get  away  from  my  friends 
before,"  she  said  anxiously,  "but  I  ought  not 
to  meet  you  all — " 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  ought,"  returned 
Sartoris  far  from  feeling  at  ease  himself, 
"with  a  chance  of  Beverley's  seeing  us,  but  it 
is  so  important,  and  surely  for  a  moment,  in 
public—" 

"Nowhere,"  said  the  woman,  decisively. 

"Why?" 

"Because  Brancaster  fights  to  a  finish  to 
prove  that  I  am  not  his  wife — his  lawyers 
follow  the  wildest  clews — sift  the  smallest 
suspicion.  He  has  me  followed  by  detec- 
tives everywhere — dogged — says  openly — 
I've  heard  it — if  I  win  my  case  and  prove  the 
marriage  he'll  divorce  me  on  the  first 
chance." 

"Another  divorce!"  exclaimed  Captain 
Sartoris,  in  good-natured  satire. 

"But  he  shan't!"  she  said,  setting  her  teeth 
together, 

158 


"Quite  so,"  he  returned.  "Heroine  of  the 
greatest  society  scandal  of  the  century. 
Wife  or  no  wife?  Columns  in  the  daily 
press,  pictures  in  the  weekly.  Fabulous  of- 
fers from  the  music  hall  syndicates!" 

"And  every  shilling  I  possess  going  to  the 
lawyers,"  she  lamented.  "But  I'll  spend  ev- 
ery shilling,  raise  every  shilling,  pawn  my 
last  diamond — and  then  I'll  starve  until  they 
own  me  Lady  Brancaster." 

"I  know  you'd  like  it,"  he  sighed.  "I 
wish  you  were  Lady  Brancaster  in  all  truth." 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked  shortly. 

"What  you  owe  me  for  the  title,"  he  said. 

"Money?" 

"My  name  is  on  a  bill  that  I  must  meet 
to-morrow  for  three  thousand.  I  want  a 
bit  of  ready  money  for  interest — then  with 
time,  and  the  chance  of  a  lucky  win —  If 
I  could  know  to-night — I  daren't  let  you  go 
to  my  rooms  or  go  myself  to  yours.  Isn't 
there  some  good,  safe,  neutral  spot,  where 
159 


THE  WHIP 


no  one  in  the  world  ever  goes,  in  a  crowd?" 

She  reflected  a  moment 

"I  have  it,"  she  exclaimed,  "no  one  who 
knows  us  ever  goes  there.  It's  Tussaud's, 
the  wax  works.  Be  there  at  ten  sharp.  It 
closes  early." 

With  a  word  of  appreciation  for  her  sharp 
and  nimble  wit  Sartoris  left  her,  their  en- 
gagement made  for  that  night. 

Sartoris  had  scarcely  vanished  around  an 
angle  of  the  corridor,  when  who  should  sud- 
denly confront  Mrs.  D'Aquila  but  Lady 
Diana,  her  grandfather  and  Mrs.  Beamish, 
who  appeared  upon  the  scene  from  the  op- 
posite direction  to  that  in  which  Sartoris  had 
opportunely  made  his  escape. 

Mrs.  D'Aquila  met  the  newcomers  coolly. 
She  strolled  past  them  and  deliberately 
looked  them  up  and  down,  without  so  much 
as  a  word  or  a  nod  of  recognition.  Then 
with  her  head  held  high,  she  swept  slowly 
and  insolently  away. 

1 60 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

Lord  Beverley  stood  still,  with  com- 
pressed lips. 

"I  always  disliked  that  woman!"  Mrs. 
Beamish  sputtered,  unable  to  control  her 
feelings. 

"I  wonder  how  she  dare  show  her  face!" 
Lady  Diana  said,  red  with  embarrassment. 

"My  dear,  it's  a  public  place.  She's  a 
right  to  be  here,"  her  grandfather  remon- 
strated. 

"Calling  herself  Lady  Brancaster!"  And 
the  suspicion  of  a  tear  trembled  on  one  of 
her  lovely  eyelashes. 

"I  know  what  I  should  like  to  call  herP 
Mrs.  Beamish  exclaimed  spitefully.  "The 
hussy!" 

"The  law  will  tell  us  what  to  call  her — 
and  other  people,  in  time,  Betty — we  need 
not  discuss  it  till  then,"  Beverley  said 
quietly.  And  then,  to  change  the  subject — 

"Where's  your  hack,  Di?"  he  asked. 

"Here,  dear — "  And  Lady  Diana  turned 
161 


THE  WHIP 


to  one  of  the  box-stalls  from  which  a  sleek 
head  was  thrust  out,  in  appeal  for  a  lump  of 
sugar. 

"And  where's  Lambert?  He  ought  to  be 
here,  looking  after  the  mare." 

Mrs.  Beamish  sniffed  quite  audibly,  as  she 
said,  half  to  herself — 

"And  he's  somewhere  else,  looking  after 
the  fillies." 

And  at  that  moment  Tom  Lambert  came 
bustling  up  to  them. 

"Well,  Tom?"  Lord  Beverley  greeted 
him,  inquiringly. 

"  'Fraid  it's  no  go,  my  lord.  Mare  went 
very  short  this  mornin'.  Had  her  leg  under 
the  cold  douche  for  an  hour  but  'tis  still  very 
'ot  and  puffy — feels  like  the  ligament. 
'Fraid  we  can't  show  her!" 

Lady  Diana  patted  the  pretty  creature. 

"Poor  darling!"  she  said,  as  the  mare 
pressed  her  silky  nose  into  her  mistress' hand. 
162 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

"Would  you  like  the  bandage  off?"  Lam- 
bert asked  the  Marquis. 

"No,  no!  You  know  more  about  legs 
than  I  do.  If  you  say  she's  lame,  that  set- 
tles it,  Tom."  Lord  Beverley  looked  over 
the  rail  with  disappointment,  for  he  knew 
that  his  granddaughter's  heart  was  set  on  the 
mare's  winning. 

"I  am  disappointed.  I  know  we  should 
have  won,"  Lady  Diana  said  sorrowfully. 

"Looked  like  it,  my  lady,  yesterday,"  Tom 
remarked.  "But  you  can't  be  certain  of 
nothing  with  'osses." 

Lady  Diana  smiled,  for  she  knew  that  the 
trainer  was  trying  in  his  clumsy  way,  to 
comfort  her;  and  she  lowered  her  voice  as 
she  inquired — 

"Not  of  the  Two  Thousand,  Tom?" 

Lambert  held  up  a  warning  ringer,  while 
Lord  Beverley  glanced  round  the  corridor 
suspiciously. 


THE  WHIP 


"There's  nothing  certain  in  this  world,  my 
dear  Di,  except  income  tax  and  influenza," 
he  warned  his  granddaughter. 

At  this  juncture  the  big  double  doors  lead- 
ing to  the  arena  opened  briefly  to  allow  a 
top-hatted  gentleman  and  a  steward  to  pass 
through. 

"Eh?  Oh!  Clanmore!"  Lord  Beverley 
exclaimed  pleasantly,  as  he  recognized  a 
friend. 

"Wonder  if  I  could  ask  you  a  favor?"  the 
newcomer  said. 

"Should  think  so — if  you  tried  hard,"  was 
Beverley's  bantering  answer. 

"Well,  for  each  of  our  competitions  here 
there  are  three  judges — one  English,  one 
American,  and  one  Continental — " 

"Verdict  in  Volapuk,  or  Esperanto?"  the 
Marquis  inquired,  drily. 

"There'll  be  none  at  all  for  the  high  jump 
' — it's  on  now — if  we  can't  get  someone  to  do 
164 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

deputy  for  our  chap — got  kicked  on  the  knee 
and  had  to  leave  the  arena.  If  you  would 
only  volunteer,  everyone  would  be  delighted 
— there'd  be  no  delay  and — "  Lord  Clan- 
more  stopped,  with  a  most  appealing  look  at 
Lady  Diana's  grandfather. 

Lord  Beverley  was  quite  willing. 

"Certainly — with  pleasure — it  won't  take 
long?"  he  asked. 

"No  time.  Announce  Lord  Beverley 
at  once,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  steward. 
"Come  along!"  he  finished,  waving  a  hand 
at  the  Marquis. 

"Di?"  said  Lord  Beverley,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,  dear." 

"I  thought  just  now  I  saw  Brancaster." 
There  was  seriousness  in  her  grandfather's 
manner. 

"Yes?"  And  she  looked  up  somewhat 
sadly. 

"If  you  should  meet,  you  will  remember 


THE  WHIP 


that  he  is  a  stranger.     Under  no  circum- 
stances will  you  speak  to  him.     Promise 


me—" 


"I — I  don't  want  to  promise." 

"Very  well,  but  you  know  my  wish — my 
very  earnest  wish,  and  you  will  remember 
it  and  respect  it,  dear,  I  feel  sure."  Lord 
Beverley  showed  more  concern  than  was  his 
habit,  as  he  followed  Clanmore  to  the  arena 
door,  and  he  stopped  and  looked  back  for  a 
moment  before  he  passed  through  into  the 
tan  bark  enclosure. 

Lady  Diana  strolled  slowly  along  the  cor- 
ridor, examining  the  beautifully  groomed 
occupants  of  the  boxes,  leaving  her  compan- 
ion and  the  trainer  standing  in  front  of  the 
mare's  stall. 

"So  disappointing  the  mare  can't  com- 
pete! When  did  she  injure  herself,  Lam- 
bert?" Mrs.  Beamish  asked  with  solicitude. 

"When  she  forgot  she  was  a  'orse  and  be- 
haved like  a  donkey — when  she  lost  her  tem- 
166 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

per,  like  the  rest  of  her  sex,  an'  made  a  fool 
of  herself,"  the  trainer  answered,  with  more 
than  a  trace  of  irritation,  for  he  still  smarted 
from  the  lady's  late  insinuations  in  regard 
to  Myrtle  Anson. 

Mrs.  Beamish  bridled  under  the  unex- 
pected attack. 

"Men  never  make  fools  of  themselves!" 
she  retorted. 

"No.  Women  make  fools  of  'em,"  Lam- 
bert said,  scoring  handily. 

"And  girls.  So  I've  noticed."  And  she 
gloated  triumphantly  over  the  discomfited 
Lambert. 

Meanwhile  Lady  Diana  was  surprised  by 
an  unexpected  greeting — 

"Hullo — Di — why  aren't  you  riding?" 
It  was  Sartoris,  suave  and  elegant  in  fault- 
less city  garb. 

"Can't,"  she  answered,  giving  him  the 
hand  he  claimed.  "Isn't  it  bad  luck?  The 
mare's  lame." 

167 


THE  WHIP 


"I'm  awfully  sorry.  Some  pals  of  mine 
came  on  purpose  to  see  you." 

"Who?"  she  asked  him. 

"Er — Linconshire  people — you  don't 
know  them — I've  just  come  from  their  box 
— the  girl  asked  me  to  get  your  autograph — 
shove  it  in  her  book,  and  I'll  take  it  back — 
kind  of  consolation,  eh !  here's  a  style." 

"It's  just  like  yours,  Greville,"  Ladj; 
Diana  remarked. 

"What?" 

"The  book!"  she  replied,  as  she  took  it 
from  him. 

"Eh?" 

"The  little  bits  of  blue  paper,"  she  ex- 
plained, "let  in  like  photographs." 

"Er — yes — and  taken  out  like  'em — if  the 
page  gets  soiled,  don't  you  see — or — the — er 
— collector  wants  to  swap  them  with  another 
lunatic."  And  the  Captain  laughed  in  his 
easy  fashion. 

"Do  they  really  do  that?"  Lady  Diana 
168 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

asked  him  in  astonishment,  as  she  wrote  her 
name  in  the  book.  She  was  not  much  given 
to  the  lesser  frivolities  of  her  sex. 

"Rather  1"  the  Captain  answered.  "Aw- 
fully keen  bargainers  some  of  'em — knew  a 
chap  once  who  actually  got  three  good  bish- 
ops for  quite  an  indifferent  ballet  girl." 

Lady  Diana  laughed. 

"Don't  be  ridiculous!"  she  said. 

"I  was  never  more  serious  in  my  life — 
believe  me.  Thanks  so  much.  I'll  take  it 
now,"  he  added,  holding  out  a  hand  for  the 
book. 

Faint  shouts  and  hoots  from  the  arena  now 
reached  their  ears,  causing  Lady  Diana  to 
approach  the  great  doors,  which  opened  mo- 
mentarily, affording  her  a  glimpse  of  the 
scene  within.  Then,  turning,  she  saw  a 
group  of  friends  standing  at  some  little  dis- 
tance up  the  corridor.  They  recognized  her 
and  beckoned. 

Greville  Sartoris,  meanwhile,  dallied  in 
169 


THE  WHIP 


front  of  one  of  the  boxes,  glancing  covertly 
over  his  shoulder  at  his  charming  cousin. 
And  then,  as  the  girl  moved  away  to  join  the 
knot  of  pleasure-seekers  who  had  summoned 
her,  the  Captain  opened  the  autograph  book. 
He  quickly  slipped  out  the  piece  of  paper 
on  which  Lady  Diana  had  written  her  name, 
regarded  it  searchingly,  triumphantly,  for 
an  instant,  and  then  placed  it  in  his  pocket. 

And  then  with  a  satisfied  sigh  Captain 
Sartoris  strolled  away,  carrying  with  him  in 
his  waistcoat  pocket  a  promissory  note,  made 
out  in  the  most  approved  fashion,  payable  to 
Greville  Sartoris,  and  signed  at  the  bottom 
by  that  rich  and  well-known  young  sports- 
woman— his  cousin,  Diana  Sartoris. 

In  the  meantime,  Mrs.  Beamish  and  Lam- 
bert had  been  joined  by  a  party  of  merry- 
makers from  the  Falconhurst  estate,  the 
mare's  box-stall  offering  a  convenient  ren- 
dezvous for  Lord  Beverley's  dependents. 

"Why,  bless  me,  what  are  you  all  doing?" 
170 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

Mrs.  Beamish  exclaimed,  as  the  country  peo- 
ple, arrayed  in  holiday  finery,  surrounded 
her. 

"Come  up  by  the  'scursion,  ma'm,  just  for 
a  day's  pleasure,  with  his  lordship's  leave, 
us  and  Mary  the  second  'ousemaid,  George 
Walter,  and  the  under  gardener's  brother-in- 
law  who's  'ome  from  the  sea — started  at  five 
this  morning  we  did,"  answered  Tomlin,  one 
of  the  Beverley  kennel-men. 

"Pretty  early!"  said  Mrs.  Beamish. 

"It  was  that.  Fourteen  in  the  carriage, 
and  didn't  arrive  till  eleven." 

"Quite  a  pleasure  trip.  Where  did  you 
go?"  she  asked. 

"Begun  at  the  Zoo." 

"What  did  you  think  of  the  animals?" 

"All  right  for  furriners,  ma'rhl"  put  in 
Bunting,  the  head  whip,  "but  give  me  the 
foxes  1" 

"Then  we  went  to  the  Tower,"  Tomlin 
continued. 

171 


THE  WHIP 


"And  'Enery  put  his  head  on  the  block. 
Didn't  you,  'Enery?"  And  Mrs.  Bunting 
appealed  proudly  to  her  progeny,  which 
clung  tightly  to  her  skirt. 

"  Yes,"  blurted  'Enery. 

"The  young  'un  knows  how  to  enjoy  him- 
self," Tomlin  explained,  complacently. 

"Evidently,"  Mrs.  Beamish  smiled. 

"And  when  we  go  to  the  Wax  Works  he's 
to  see  the  Chamber  of  'Orrors — I've  always 
promised  him — haven't  I,  'Enery?"  And 
'Enery's  mother  patted  the  young  scion  on 
the  crown  of  its  hat. 

"Yes.  I  want  to  see  Dr.  Crippen,"  'En- 
ery whined. 

"Dear  light-hearted  pet,"  Mrs.  Beamish 
laughed. 

"But  we  thought  we'd  come  here  first — " 
Tomlin  continued. 

"Just  to  see  the  difference.     Are  the  oth- 
ers here?"  Mrs.  Beamish  asked. 
172 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

Tomlin  evidenced  some  discomfiture  at 
this  query. 

"Well,  ma'm,  the  gardener's  brother-in- 
law  had  a  little  trouble  in  the  Tube,"  he 
said,  lamely. 

"And  a  lot  of  whisky  out  of  it?"  Mrs. 
[Beamish  was  relentless. 

"Well,  sailors  are  always  that  free — " 
Tomlin  stammered. 

"I  hope  he'll  be — when  the  day's  over," 
she  said  grimly.  "Mind  none  of  you  get 
lost!" 

"  'Case  we  do,  ma'm,"  Tomlin  explained, 
with  an  air,  "we've  all  fixed  to  meet  at  the 
Wax  Works — nine  o'clock  and  then  to  St. 
Pancras  for  the  last  train." 

Mrs.  Beamish  could  not  forego  a  few 
words  of  warning  for  these  rustics. 

"Well,  I  hope  you  all  catch  it,"  she  said, 
"and  thoroughly  enjoy  yourself.  And  mind 
nobody  picks  your  pockets,"  she  cautioned. 


THE  WHIP 


"In  London  there  are  thieves  everywhere." 

"That's  all  right,  ma'm.  We're  York- 
shire," Tomlin  assured  her,  confident  of  his 
own  ability  to  take  care  of  the  entire  party, 
if  it  were  necessary. 

"Good  show,  Tom?"  he  asked  the  trainer. 

"Might  be — if  they  chucked  in  a  clown 
and  a  tight  rope.  I  like  'osses  in  their 
places — in  the  stable  or  on  the  grass,"  Lam- 
bert grumbled.  He  had  not  recovered 
from  the  sting  of  Mrs.  Beamish's  biting  sar- 
casm. 

"Same  'ere.  Wish  you  could  get  off  for 
an  hour  with  us." 

"I'd  like  to.  See  if  I  can't  pick  you  up 
later — p'raps  at  the  Wax  Works.  I  want 
to  see  them — particular." 

At  this  point  young  Henry  sent  up  a  sud- 
den and  tremendous  wail. 

"Mother — I  want  some  milk — I  want  a 
glass  of  milk!"  he  howled. 

This  sudden  demand  of  nature  reminded 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

them  all  that  the  inner  man  would  not  be  in- 
definitely denied.  And  Bunting  wiped  his 
mouth  with  anticipation  as  he  said — 

"Quite  right,  my  son,  we  all  do!  Give 
us  your  'and  and  I'll  lead  you  to  it." 

And  the  joyful  party  hurried  away  to  find 
a  refreshment  stand,  leaving  Mrs.  Beamish 
and  Lambert  unceremoniously  behind. 

"What  on  earth  does  a  man  at  your  time 
of  life  want  with  wax  works?"  that  lady 
asked  scornfully. 

"Nothing  wrong  with  'em,  is  there?" 

"If  there  isn't,  you're  the  man  to  corrupt 
them,"  and  Mrs.  Beamish  spoke  with  great 
conviction. 

"Now— Mrs.  B.,"  Tom  began. 

"Mish!"  the  uncompromising  female  stip- 
ulated. 

Lambert  look  at  her  apprehensively.  He 
knew  that  there  were  times  when  women, 
like  horses,  must  be  humored. 

"Well — Beamish — then,  if  you  will  'ave 


THE  WHIP 


it,"  he  conceded.  "You  needn't  be  so  hard 
on  a  chap.  When  we  'aven't  had  a  pleas- 
ant little  talk  so  to  say  for  nigh  on  six 
weeks." 

"It's  not  my  fault  that  it  isn't  longer,"  she 
told  him. 

"Not  since  that  even'  in  the  Eyetalian 
Garden  at  Falconhurst." 

"Where  the  Myrtles  come  from — and  go 
to."  Tom  had  made  a  fatal  mistake  in  re- 
calling that  particular  spot  to  Mrs.  Beam- 
ish's  mind. 

"Still  'arping  on  that!"  he  groaned. 

"I  am!" 

"Mrs.  B. — "  he  implored. 

"Mish,  if  you  please—  "  and  the  unyield- 
ing woman  fixed  him  with  a  hostile  eye. 

"Beamish,  then.  There  ain't  no  more  be- 
tween me  and  Myrtle  than  there  is  between 
me  and  the  moon." 

"Moonshine!  Tom  Lambert,  you'll 
never  make  me  believe  that  if  you  talk  till 
176 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

you're  black  in  the  face  instead  of  red." 

Mrs.  Beamish  knew  that  the  trainer's 
ruddy  color  was  a  source  of  anxiety  to  the 
man. 

"Very  well,  Mrs.  B — mish — in  that  case 
I'll  go  and  'ave  a  glass  of  milk — as  it  is  said 
to  be  good  for  the  complexion." 

"Ha!  Drink!"  There  was  a  world  of 
conviction  in  the  lady's  tone. 

"Yes,  drink,  and  it's  you  as  'ave  drove  me 
to  it — so  now  you  know."  And  Tom  turned 
away  in  a  rage,  just  as  Lady  Diana  came 
back  to  join  her  companion. 

"What's  the  matter,  Betty?"  she  laughed, 
perceiving  Lambert's  annoyance. 

"Lambert!"  was  the  laconic  answer.  "In 
his  second  childhood — talking  of  going  to 
wax  works!"  And  Mrs.  Beamish  was  too 
disgusted  to  see  any  humor  in  the  situation. 

"Well,  but  they  all  do !     Even  Harry  An- 
son  and  Myrtle — "  Lady  Diana  could  not 
conceal  her  amusement. 
177 


THE  WHIP 


"What!  Is  she  in  town?"  Mrs.  Beam- 
ish was  startled. 

"Oh,  yes.  They  came  up  with  the  others 
and  she  came  to  see  my  maid  Saker,  you 
know,  and  she  told  her  she's  going  to  meet 
them  all  there." 

"I've  no  doubt!"  said  Mrs.  Beamish,  and 
her  lips  tightened.  "And  so'm  I !"  she  fin- 
ished firmly. 

Then  the  doors  of  the  arena  opened  to  al- 
low several  people  to  pass  out — among  them 
two  old  friends  of  the  Beverley  household — 
a  Mrs.  Pelham  and  Capt.  Rayner. 

"Ah!  Mrs.  Beamish — mornin' — what 
d'you  think  of  the  show,  eh?"  Capt.  Rayner 
asked  Lady  Diana's  companion. 

"Splendid!  Compromise  between  a 
flower  show  and  a  circus.  It  only  wants  a 
young  person  with  tarlatan  skirts  and  tissue 
paper  hoops." 

It  was  plain  that  Mrs.  Beamish  was  not 
enjoying  herself  particularly. 
178 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

"Chance  for  you,  Mrs.  Beamish!"  the 
Captain  told  her  with  amusement. 

"Thanks.  I'll  leave  the  bare-back  act  to 
society  beauties." 

"Betty's  in  a  bad  temper,"  laughed  Lady 
Diana. 

"Doesn't  she  like  the  ring?"  Mrs.  Pelham 
inquired. 

"No.  I  think  it's  even  dull,"  Mrs.  Beam- 
ish answered.  "You  performing?"  she 
asked  Rayner. 

"My  team  is — four  bays,"  the  Captain  an- 
swered with  pride  in  his  voice. 

Mrs.  Beamish  consulted  her  list. 

"I  see  'em — with  no  names,"  she  said. 
"I'll  christen  'em  for  you.  What  are  they 
like?" 

"Two  of  'em  ripping!  Full  of  form — " 
the  Captain  began,  bubbling  over  with  en- 
thusiasm. 

"Ah!  Pegwell  Bay  and  Herne  Bay!" 

"One's  a  tiny  bit  off  color,"  he  objected. 
179 


THE  WHIP 


"Ah!  Sick  Bay!"  Mrs.  Beamish  corrected 
herself  with  pleasure. 

"And  the  other's  as  full  of  spirit  as— 

"Bay  Rum!"  she  interrupted.  They 
laughed,  while  Mrs.  Beamish  looked  at  her 
list  again. 

"And  I  see  somebody's  got  four 
browns — " 

"Name  them,  Mrs.  Beamish,"  Captain 
Rayner  implored  her,  with  mock  serious- 
ness. 

"Oh,  Brown,  Jones,  and  Robinson!"  she 
enumerated. 

"But  there  are  four,  Betty,"  Lady  Diana 
said. 

"Oh,  very  well — Peter  RoBinson,  then." 

Their  bantering  was  interrupted  by  a 
wrangling  uproar. 

"Good  gracious — what's  that!"  Mrs. 
Beamish  exclaimed. 

"Look  out  there — mind  the  ladies!" 
someone  shouted.  It  was  Sartoris'  voice 
180 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

that  gave  the  warning  cry,  as  a  struggling 
horse  burst  from  the  arena,  with  its  rider 
sawing  wildly  on  the  bit,  while  a  groom 
clung  to  the  fractious  animal's  head.  It 
was  Kelly,  the  plunging  bookmaker,  who 
sat  in  the  saddle. 

"Take  the  brute  away!"  cried  Lord  Clan- 
more  from  the  entrance. 

"I  object— I  object!"  Kelly  bawled, 
thickly. 

"Then  confound  you,  go  home  and  ob- 
ject!" Clanmore  retorted. 

"You  can't  order  me — "  Kelly  began, 
ponderously. 

Clanmore  shook  a  warning  finger  at  the 
man. 

"The  judges  have  ordered  you  out  of  the 
ring,  Mr.  Kelly,  because  your  brute's  dan- 
gerous and  you  can't  ride.  If  you  ask  me 
I  should  say  you  were  drunk."  Then,  to 
the  attendants — "He  doesn't  come  back^ 
mind,"  he  added. 

181 


THE  WHIP 


"Drunk — what's  that — you  look  here— 
Kelly  stammered,  trying  to  dismount,  in  the 
process  of  which  he  slipped  and  fell  sprawl- 
ing upon  the  floor.  Then,  as  the  groom 
led  away  his  mount,  the  erstwhile  rider 
scrambled  with  difficulty  to  his  feet,  shout- 
ing— 

"I'll  jolly  soon  show  you  who's 
drunk!" 

Sartoris  stepped  quickly  in  front  of  the 
infuriated  man. 

"Kelly!  Kelly!  I  say — now — listen  to 
me  a  minute,"  he  said,  as  he  took  Kelly's 
arm  and  led  him  aside. 

"D'you  say  I'm  drunk?"  Kelly  demanded, 
shaking  himself  free. 

"Certainly  not,"  the  Captain  told  him, 
soothingly.  "Bit  excited.  Disheveled, 
that's  all.  What  you  want  is  just  a  brush 
up.  So  much  in  appearance,  you  know." 

"He  says  I'm  drunk!"  Kelly  shouted. 

"Well,  well,  he's  a  teetotaler— and  per- 
182 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

haps  you  have  been  lunching — "   Sartoris 
smiled  in  spite  of  himself. 

"What's  a  bottle  of  cham?"  Kelly  de- 
manded. 

"Gooseberry — very  often,"  Sartoris  an- 
swered, truly. 

"Mine  ain't!"  Kelly  regarded  the  Cap- 
tain with  indignation  at  the  fancied  insult. 

"Of  course  not,  but  if  you  add  quantity 
to  quality—  '  Sartoris  said. 

"I  never  stint  my  pals,  when  they're  at 
my  table,"  Kelly  affirmed  righteously. 

"Oh,  you  have  been  celebrating?" 

"Rather!" 

"What?" 

"Best  day's  racing  we  ever  had  yesterday. 
Four  skinners  out  o'  six.  Lord!  Didn't 
we  rip  it  off  Brancaster!"  And  Kelly's 
laugh  at  his  pleasant  recollection  drove  his 
fuddled  resentment  entirely  out  of  his  mind. 

"He  was  betting  heavily?"  Sartoris  ques- 
tioned. 

183 


THE  WHIP 


"You  know  him.  Plunging  to  get  home 
— double  or  quits — double  or  quits — but  no 
quits  this  time."  Kelly  no  longer  laughed; 
on  the  contrary,  his  red  eyes  glared  savagely 
at  the  Captain. 

"You  don't  like  him?"  Sartoris  asked. 

"No!  'Cos  he  stands  up  to  me, — dares  to 
bet  bigger.  But  I'll  break  him  'fore  I've 
done  wi'  him." 

And  as  Kelly  uttered  his  hostile  threat, 
who  should  emerge  from  the  arena  exit  but 
Lord  Brancaster  himself. 

"Mornin',  my  Lord!"  said  Kelly,  lurch- 
ing toward  Brancaster,  and  ostentatiously 
raising  his  hat.  "Any  fancy  for  a  bet  to- 
day— Derby — Oaks — or  Leger?"  he  in- 
quired, while  Sartoris  made  his  escape,  as 
if  he  were  glad  to  rid  himself  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

"No,  thank  you,  Kelly,"  Lord  Brancaster 
replied,  nodding  shortly. 
184 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

"Two  thousand?"  Kelly  demanded. 

"No,  thanks." 

Kelly  pursued  his  quarry  with  great  en- 
ergy. 

"Think  I  don't  mean  it — think  I'm  drunk 
maybe?  'Ere — d'you  know  what  they've 
been  saying?"  He  waved  a  hand  un- 
steadily, indicating  the  arena.  "In  there? 
I  ask  you — am  I  drunk?" 

"Oh,  please — er — don't  appeal  to  me," 
Brancaster  said,  embarrassed. 

"Why  not?  You've  asked  me  favors,  and 
will  again." 

"I  hope  not,"  the  young  man  answered, 
quietly. 

"Do  you?  Well  you  will  and  I'll  be 
there.  Come  on  now — two  thousand — any 
outsider — twenty  to  one — sixty  to  one — for 
a  monkey — frightened?" 

"I've  no  fancy,"  said  Brancaster. 

Kelly  snorted. 

185 


THE  WHIP 


"And  no  pluck?  Bah — to  a  thousand — 
what  will  you  have?"  He  pressed  Bran- 
caster  closely. 

"Nothing." 

"I'll  make  it  easy  if  you're  short,"  the 
man  persisted.  "I'll  wait — I  did  before — 
didn't  I,  when  you  was  getting  out  that 
last  mortgage,  I  waited.  And  I  will 
again — " 

Brancaster  ground  his  teeth  and  glanced 
helplessly  at  the  onlookers.  And  control- 
ling himself  with  a  visible  effort,  he  an- 
swered, simply: 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Kelly." 

"Then  have  a  bet!"  Kelly  continued,  in 
wheedling  tones  now — "If  I  mayn't  ride  in 
there,  I  must  have  a  bet  out  here — coom  on, 
just  to  oblige — for  a  thousand— 

"I'm  not  betting,"  said  Brancaster,  firmly. 

"Oh  .  .  ."  Kelly  exclaimed,  through 
pursed  lips.  "Well,  of  course,  if  it  is  like 
that — I'm  sorry.  But — on  Monday — don't 
186 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

forget — I'm  here — Joe  Kelly,  as  can  buy 
and  sell  you  twice  over — if  you  want  money 
— here  he  is — you've  only  to  ask  him — wait- 
ing to  oblige — waiting  for  you,  my  lord, 
whenever  you've  got  the  brass  or  got  the 
pluck  to  come  along!" 

And  he  took  his  hat  off,  sweeping  it  low  in 
mock  courtesy,  and  staggered  off  down  the 
passage,  to  find  Lord  Clanmore  and  once 
more  make  his  protest. 

From  a  little  table  at  the  side  of  a  bower 
Lady  Diana  and  Mrs.  Beamish  had  heard 
Kelly's  words.  Suddenly  the  elder  woman 
leaned  toward  Lady  Diana. 

"Di — do  you  believe  that  he  married  that 
woman?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"No,"  said  Lady  Diana  decisively. 

"Then  speak  to  him — speak  to  him,"  said 
the  dry  voice  of  the  chaperone  with  some 
little  tinge  of  sentiment.  "It's  just  what  he's 
breaking  his  heart  for,  I'll  swear,  and  I 
won't  look." 

187 


THE  WHIP 


Lady  Diana  needed  no  further  urging, 
but  went  at  once  to  Brancaster. 

"Lord  Brancaster,  Hubert,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

At  once  the  Earl  turned  to  her. 

"You,  Di !"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  you  still 
believe  in  me?" 

"Yes,  in  spite  of  everything — in  spite  of 
everybody.  And  it's  because  I  believe  in 
you  that  you  mustn't  lose  faith  in  yourself. 
Do  you  hear  me?" 

"God  bless  you,  Di." 

"Did  you  think  I'd  desert  you?  Grand- 
dad made  me  promise  not  to  write,  but  all 
the  time  I've  been  hoping  that  I  might  meet 
you — that  I  might  hear  from  you." 

"And  you  believe,"  sighed  Brancaster, 
"although  I  have  no  proof  to  put  against 
that  woman's  story — although  I  can't  ac- 
count for  those  lost  days.  Ah,  if  I  onlj 
could  remember!" 

188 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

"Perhaps  you  will,  some  day — and  mean- 
while, what's  love  without  trust?  And  I 
love  you,  Hubert." 

They  were  close  by  a  little  bower  of  min- 
iature trees  and  Brancaster  suddenly  took 
the  girl  in  his  arms. 

She  permitted  the  embrace  but  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  slipped  from  his  arms,  con- 
scious of  the  fact  that  there  was  more  for 
them  to  do  than  to  deal  merely  with  the 
superficials  of  love. 

"And  now — we've  only  a  few  moments 
— "  she  said  breathlessly,  "tell  me  is  it  true 
— what  that  man  hinted — almost  said,  that 
you're  ruined?" 

"All  but,"  returned  Brancaster;  "I've  bet, 
plunged,  deeper  and  deeper,  till — there's 
next  to  nothing  left." 

"But  don't  you  see  that  by  doing  that," 
chided  the  girl,  "you  were  confirming  every- 
thing that  people  said  about  you?  If  you 
189 


THE  WHIP 


were  once  free  of  difficulties — you'd 
promise  me  never  to  bet  again — to  plunge 
again?" 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  Brancaster  sin- 
cerely. 

"Then  listen,"  said  Lady  Diana.  "The 
Whip  has  had  her  trial  and  come  out  of  it 
with  flying  colors.  Grand-dad  says  he's 
never  had  such  a  horse  in  his  stables — and 
that  nothing  can  stand  against  her  for  the 
Two  Thousand.  Couldn't  you— 

But  there  was  no  need  for  her  to  finish 
her  sentence. 

"Back  her?"  exclaimed  Brancaster  excit- 
edly.    "Yes — for  every  shilling  I'm  worth 
—and  find  means  to  fight  the  enemy,  to  win, 
to  victory — and  you." 

A  voice  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  made 
them  turn. 

"Kelly,"  said  Lady  Diana  pointing,  her 
tone  conveying  a  strong  suggestion  to  Bran- 
caster. 

190 


BRANCASTER  PLUNGES  AGAIN 

"I  say  I  want  Lord  Clanmore,"  sputtered 
Kelly.  "I'm  Joe  Kelly.  I'm  known  and 
respected,  I  am.  I  can  buy  the  ring  or 
break  it — if  I  want  to — make  the  biggest 
book  on  earth — bet  thousands — to  your 
fivers — "  His  last  words  were  directed  at 
Lord  Brancaster. 

Brancaster  and  Lady  Diana  smiled 
happily. 

"You  daren't  lay  me  the  odds  in  thou- 
sands," suggested  the  young  man. 

"Daren't  I?"  returned  Kelly  scornfully. 
"To  anything  you  fancy." 

"For  the  Guineas?"  said  Brancaster. 

"Yes,  the  favorite  to  ten  thousand," 
shouted  Kelly. 

His  loud  words  and  Lord  Brancaster's 
reputation  for  plunging,  drew  a  crowd  at 
once  which  seemed  to  spring  from  all  the 
byways  and  pressed  closely  about  the  two 
principals.  On  its  outskirts  Lady  Diana 
watched  the  two. 

191 


THE  WHIP 


"No,"  returned  Brancaster  to  Kelly's  offer 
on  the  favorite. 

"Black  Eagle?"  suggested  the  book- 
maker. 

"No  bet." 

"Raynardo,"  came  from  Kelly. 

"No  good,"  said  Brancaster.    , 

"Black  Diamond,"  countered  Kelly. 

"The  field,"  Brancaster  offered. 

"Yes,"  said  Kelly  instantly;  "bar  that 
lot — twenties — " 

"Twenty  thousand  to  one,"  said  Bran- 
caster  while  the  crowd  all  but  cheered. 

"Yes,"  returned  Kelly  shortly. 

"Twice,"  flaunted  Brancaster. 

"Three  times,"  defied  Kelly. 

"Done,"  answered  Brancaster  in  his  turn. 

"Done!  Name  your  horse,"  shouted 
Kelly. 

"The  Whipl"  exclaimed  Brancaster,  all 
but  shouting. 


IQ2 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CAPTAIN  SARTORIS  RECEIVES 

CAPTAIN  GREVILLE  SARTORIS  had  eaten  a 
lone  but  excellent  dinner  in  his  chambers, 
when  his  man  announced  the  Rev.  Verner 
Haslam.  The  Captain,  busy  with  his  coffee 
percolator,  directed  that  his  caller  be  shown 
in. 

A  moment  later  Haslam,  with  pallid 
cheeks,  fairly  bolted  into  the  room. 

"They're  after  me,  after  me!"  he  panted, 
his  hands  and  knees  trembling. 

"Who  are?"  demanded  Lady  Diana's 
cousin  sardonically. 

"Detectives,"  returned  the  trembling  man 
of  the  robe.  "Ever  since  the  Brancaster 
case  began  I've  been  hunted,  hunted, — I'm 
dogged  by  them." 

193 


THE  WHIP 


Sartoris  shot  a  contemptuous  glance  at  the 
man,  exclaiming — 

"Rats!" 

"D — don't,"  Haslam  said,  jumping  nerv- 
ously. 

Greville  Sartoris  sneered. 

"As  bad  as  that,  eh?"  he  commented. 
"Not  only  dogged,  but  rats  after  you! 
Well,  don't  you  worry  yourself, — leave  the 
dogs  to  worry  the  rats.  One's  about  as  real 
as  the  other." 

The  curate's  throat  worked  convulsively 
and  his  hands  opened  and  closed  involun- 
tarily, in  his  excitement. 

"I  tell  you,  it's  true,"  he  gasped.  "I'm 
shadowed — " 

"Then  why  on  earth  come  here?"  Sar- 
toris asked  him. 

"To  tell  you  that  I  can't  go  on  with  it," 
Haslam  groaned — "that  I'd  rather  make  a 
clean  breast  of — " 

194 


CAPTAIN  SARTORIS  RECEIVES 

"You  mean  a  dirty  record,"  Sartoris 
snarled,  in  disgust. 

"Even  that's  better  than  going  to  jail." 
It  was  clear  that  the  man  was  in  a  blue 
funk,  which  not  even  the  Captain's  taunts 
could  dispel. 

"Confessions  won't  keep  you  out  of  it 
Shut  up — and  jail's  a  bare  possibility;  own 
up — and  it's  a  dead  cert,"  Sartoris  told  him, 
lighting  a  cigar. 

Haslam  sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands. 

"Oh!  what  shall  I  do— what  shall  I  do?" 
he  sobbed. 

"Do!"  said  Greville,  with  a  calm  all  the 
more  marked  because  of  Haslam's  agitation 
' — "try  to  be  a  man  for  once,  and  not  a  cur." 

"You  don't  know  what  I've  been  through  I 

I've  never  had  a  moment's  peace  since  I  did 

it.     I  can't  sleep,  I  can't  eat."     He  rose  and 

walked  quickly  to  the  table,  stretching  a 

195 


THE  WHIP 


hand  toward  the  brandy  bottle  that  stood 
there.  But  the  Captain  stopped  him. 

"You  can  drink  evidently,"  Greville  said 
viciously,  "and  you  do — get  the  jumps  and 
go  skulking  about  like  a  furtive  thief  to  give 
the  whole  case  away  before  you  even  go  into 
the  witness  box." 

Haslam  started  and  his  wild  eyes  seemed 
to  see  some  far-off  horror. 

"What's  that!  The  witness-box!  I 
daren't! — I  can't  face  it — I  can't.  I  can't-^ 
I  can't!"  His  voice  rose  to  a  shriek. 

"Can't  what?"  asked  Sartoris,  in  the  tone 
one  would  use  in  speaking  to  an  unreason- 
able child. 

"I  can't  stand  there  and  swear  to  a  lie  be- 
fore Almighty  God!  I,  a  clerk  in  holy  or- 
ders!" 

"Holy  skittles!"  And  the  Captain  ex- 
haled a  cloud  of  smoke.  "I'm  going  to  do  it. 
I'm  up  to  the  neck  in  it  just  as  much  as  you 
196 


CAPTAIN  SARTORIS  RECEIVES 

are — and  I'm  prepared  to  swear  that  black's 
white." 

"You're  a  different  sort  of  man  from  me," 
Haslam  told  him. 

"I  should  hope  so,"  with  infinite  con- 
tempt "Now  look  here,  Haslam.  What 
you've  got  to  do's  to  pull  yourself  together, 
and  trust  to  me  to  pull  you  through.  A 
hundred  to  one  we  win — and  then  you  can 
make  a  fresh  start  with  money  in  your 
pocket — but — blab,  and  it's  all  up.  Jail 

first — the  gutter  after — for  who'll  help  you 

• 

— except  me?  Well?"  And  he  waited  a 
bit  impatiently. 

Haslam  thought  a  moment  before  he  an- 
swered. 

"I'll — I'll  go  on — but  I've  no  money — * 
I've  no  place  to  lay  my  head." 

"It  isn't  an  egg  and  you're  not  a  chicken 
• — though  you  do  want  to  cackle,"  Sartoris 
said  flippantly.  "Now  look  here!  I've 
197 


THE  WHIP 


got  a  little  cottage  on  the  Broads — Dane- 
ham" — and  he  went  to  his  desk  and  wrote 
something  on  an  envelope  as  he  talked. 

"I'll  give  you  the  address,  and  wire  the 
old  caretaker  that  you're  coming  down  to- 
night." 

"To-night?" 

"Yes.  You  can  stay  there  till  you're 
wanted.  The  train  leaves  Fenchurch  Street 
at  nine.  You'll  just  have  time  to  catch  it  in 
a  taxi — there's  the  address,"  and  he  handed 
Haslam  the  envelope. 

"But  the  detectives!"  the  curate  objected. 

"We'll  dodge  them — if  they're  real. 
You  mustn't  go  back  to  your  lodgings — my 
man'll  let  you  out  the  back  way  here,  and 
I'll  send  a  few  things  down  to  Mr. — er — - 
James  Batford — that's  your  new  traveling 
name,"  and  Sartoris  smiled  with  amusement 
as  he  looked  at  the  fellow. 

"And  meantime  I'll  lend  you  a  cap  and 
a  coat  to  cover  up  that  black  kit  of  yours." 
198 


CAPTAIN  SARTORIS  RECEIVES 

With  these  words  Sartoris  left  the  room  to 
get  the  articles  with  which  he  proposed  to 
disguise  his  accomplice. 

The  Captain  had  scarcely  disappeared 
through  the  doorway  when  Haslam  made  a 
spring  for  the  table.  Seizing  the  brandy 
bottle  with  shaking  hand  he  poured  him- 
self half  a  tumbler  of  the  raw  spirits  which 
he  gulped  greedily.  As  he  bent  over  the 
table  with  one  hand  clutching  it,  and  the 
other  grasping  the  glass,  Sartoris  reappeared 
with  the  cap  and  the  coat.  Unperceived  by 
his  guest,  he  stood  there  watching  him  for  a 
moment.  Then  he  said,  sardonically: 

"Ah !  I  forgot  the  bottle.  Well,  let's  hope 
it'll  give  you  enough  Dutch  courage  to 
carry  you  to  Norfolk.  Here,  put  these  on," 
and  he  helped  the  clergyman  on  with  the 
coat  and  gave  him  the  cap.  Then  the  Cap- 
tain pushed  an  electric  button,  and  pulling 
out  a  sovereign  purse  he  said: 

"Here's  a  sovereign  for  you.  The  fare's 
199 


THE  WHIP 


fifteen  bob,  and  the  taxi'll  be  three;  and 
don't  make  a  beast  of  yourself  with  the  bal- 


ance." 


When  Sartoris's  man  appeared,  in  answer 
to  the  bell,  the  Captain  directed  him  briefly. 

"Emmett,  take  Mr.  Haslam  out  by  the 
back  way — understand?" 

"Yes,  sir."  And  in  an  undertone — "Can 
I  speak  to  you  a  moment,  sir?" 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Greville. 

"The — er — young  woman  from  Falcon- 
hurst,  sir,"  the  man  said,  inquiringly. 

"Myrtle!  not  if  I  know  it!  Say  I'm  out 
•• — or — wait  a  bit!  Perhaps  she's  got  some 
stable  news.  All  right.  Let  her  come  in, 
Emmett."  And  turning  to  the  clergyman — 
"Off  you  go,  Haslam,"  he  cried.  "I'll  write 
you." 

"G — good — night!"  Haslam  answered  as 
he  turned  away. 

"Oh — good  night,"  said  Sartoris  indiffer- 
ently, "and  good  luck!"  And  when  Em- 
200 


CAPTAIN  SARTORIS  RECEIVES 

mett  had  shown  him,  trembling,  out  of  the 
room,  the  Captain  added — 

"And  good  riddance!  I  wish  it  were  for 
good,"  he  said  to  himself  grimly.  And  then 
in  another  second,  Myrtle  Anson  closed  the 
door  behind  her  and  stood  in  Sartoris's 
chambers. 

The  thought  that  she  might  really  be  able 
to  help  him  get  a  bit  of  ready  money  made 
Sartoris  so  gracious  toward  the  sister  of  the 
jockey  that  he  took  her  into  his  arms. 

"Ah,  Myrtle,  my  dear  little  girl,"  he  said. 

"You  are  glad  to  see  me,  Greville?"  she 
asked  tenderly. 

"Of  course,"  returned  Sartoris,  "but  have 
you  anything  to  tell  me?  You  know  I'm 
devilishly  hard  up,  and  a  little  tip — " 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  she  began. 

"About  the  horses?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"About  myself,"  she  said.     "My  brother 
« — Harry — knows  how  it  is  with  me.     He 
follows  me  everywhere." 
201 


THE  WHIP 


"If  he  comes  here — young  cub,"  blustered 
Sartoris. 

"Don't  call  him  that,"  remonstrated  the 
jockey's  sister.  "He  knows  because  he  loves 
me.  He's  read  it  in  my  face.  Oh,  Gre- 
ville,  keep  your  promise  to  me  and  make  me 
your  wife  before  it  is  too  late." 

"My  dear  Myrtle,"  he  protested,  "I'm  a 
beggar.  I  can't  keep  myself." 

"Is  that  all?     Is  it  only  money?" 

"If  I  were  a  rich  man  I'd  marry  you  to- 


morrow." 


"Then — then — if  I  show  you  a  way  to  be- 
come rich,"  she  said  eagerly. 

At  his  quick  exclamation  she  went  on: 

"I  swore  that  I'd  never  tell  you  another 
stable  secret — but  to  make  you  rich — to 
marry  me — yesterday  they  tried  the  Whip." 

"With  what?"  he  asked  tersely,  his  stable 
sense  alert. 

"Silver  Shoe,"  said  the  girl. 

He  whistled. 

202 


CAPTAIN  SARTORIS  RECEIVES 

"That  would  tell  them,"  he  said.  "She's 
a  flyer." 

"The  Whip  won — pulling  double — by 
twenty  lengths — back  her,"  the  girl  advised. 

"Twenty  to  one!  It's  a  fortune,"  ex- 
claimed Sartoris. 

"But  do  it  at  once,"  the  girl  continued. 
"I  heard  his  lordship  tell  Harry  he  meant  to 
do  the  touts  this  time — that  he  would  tell  the 
world  himself  directly  the  horse  started  for 
Newmarket." 

"When's  that?" 

"To-morrow,  Sunday,  night.  They're 
going  to  put  a  horse  box  on  to  the  fast  train 
that  comes  through  Falconhurst  at  seven- 
twenty." 

All  the  greed  of  Sartoris's  small  nature 
was  aroused,  and  not  realizing  the  self- 
revelation  and  satire  that  his  own  words  re- 
vealed, he  exclaimed: 

"Myrtle,  you're  an  Ai  little  girl — a  dear, 
sweet,  little  girl." 

203, 


THE  WHIP 


"And  you'll  marry  me?"  she  questioned 
anxiously. 

Before  Sartoris  was  put  to  the  necessity 
of  further  invention  and  delay,  there  was  a 
knock  on  the  door  and  in  answer  to  his 
master's  call  Sartoris's  man  came  in  with  the 
statement  that  a  "Mr.  Kelly"  wished  to  see 
Sartoris.  The  latter  directed  that  he  be 
brought  in.  Myrtle  he  led  into  another 
room. 

As  Kelly  came  in,  scowling  at  Sartoris's 
man,  the  Captain  greeted  him  heartily  with: 

"Kelly,  you're  the  very  man  I  wanted. 
I've  just  had  a  wire.  Commission — chap  I 
know  wants  to  back  the  Whip  for  two  thou- 
sand. 

"Then  you'd  better  try  someone  else,"  said 
the  bookmaker  shortly.  "I'm  fed  up  with 
the  Whip,  I  am.  The  Whip's  just  what 
I've  come  to  see  you  about.  The  horse  is  in 
your  cousin's  stable  and  you  ought  to  know 
204 


CAPTAIN  SARTORIS  RECEIVES 

something  about  him.  Wot  I  want  to 
know  is  wot  is  ii; — and  'ow  good  is  it?" 

"Why?"  demanded  Sartoris. 

"  'Cos  I  lost  my  temper,"  explained 
Kelly,  "and  lost  my  'ead,  too,  with  Bran- 
caster,  an'  I  laid  him  twenty  to  one  against 
the  Whip." 

"You  did?" 

"Three  times." 

"What  in?" 

"Thousands!" 

"Good  heavens,  man,"  said  Sartoris,  not 
entirely  displeased  to  see  another  in  trouble 
also.  "You'll  be  broke.  They  tried  the 
Whip  yesterday.  She  romped  home.  The 
best  horse  they've  ever  had  in  the  Beverley 
stables.  Cover,  man!  Cover!" 

"Cover  be  'anged,"  said  the  disgusted 
Kelly.  "I've  tried,  but  the  whole  town 
rings  with  it,  and  the  'orse  is  now  five  to 


one." 


20$ 


THE  WHIP 


,  "Anything  is  better  than  nothing,"  Sar- 
toris advised.  "If  you  wait  you'll  get 
worse.  Beverley  is  going  to  tell  the  wide 
world.  Oh,  you're  in  a  hole — put  there  by 
Brancaster." 

This  lack  of  sympathy  on  the  part  of  Sar- 
toris  angered  Kelly. 

"I'm  in  a  'ole,  Mr.  Captain  Sartoris,"  he 
said  threateningly.  "But  what  are  you? 
I'm  going  to  get  out  of  this  'ole  and  you  are 
going  to  'elp  me.  I've  been  a  good  pal  to 
you — now  it's  your  turn." 

"What  can  I  do?"  demanded  Sartoris 
with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  can  do,"  returned 
Kelly,  taking  a  piece  of  paper  from  his 
pocket.  "You  see  this  bill  for  three  thou- 
sand pounds — due  to-morrow." 

"Yes,  that's  right,"  answered  Sartoris 
easily.  "But  I  want  you  to  let  me  renew  it. 
I'll  pay  you  the  interest  to-morrow  and  give 
you  another  bill." 

206 


CAPTAIN  SARTORIS  RECEIVES 

"With  Lady  Diana's  name  on  it  again?" 
insinuated  Kelly. 

"Yes.  Isn't  her  name  good  enough?"  de- 
manded her  cousin. 

"Quite,  but  I'd  like  to  see  her  put  it  there. 
Because  I  don't  believe  she  ever  did.  I'm 
a-going  to  ask  her.  So  you  can  keep  that 
new  bill  of  yourn  and  I'll  keep  this — till 
after  the  Two  Thousand  race.  And  if  the 
Whip  wins  I  shall  take  it  to  Lady  Diana  an' 
ask  her  how  her  signature  comes  there. 
But  if  the  Whip  loses  I'll  give  it  back  to 
you,  and  I'll  throw  you  a  couple  o'  thou- 
sand in  as  a  make-weight." 

"How  can  I  stop  the  Whip  from  win- 
ning?" asked  Sartoris,  fearful  that  his  forg- 
ing of  his  cousin's  name  would  soon  come  to 
light 

"That's  your  job,"  returned  Kelly.    "Lots 
of  things  'appens  to  'orses — especially  favor- 
ites.    When  KlarikorT  was  favorite  for  the 
Leger  he  got  burnt  in  'is  box." 
207 


THE  WHIP 


"Do  you  suggest  that  I  shall — "  began 
Sartoris. 

"Use  your  'ead,  that's  all,"  said  Kelly. 
"You've  got  plenty.  But  if  the  Whip  wins 
it  will  be  in  a  halter — and  don't  you  forget 
it" 

The  sound  of  a  sudden  scuffle  interrupted 
them.  The  noise  of  one  man  pushing  aside 
another  came  from  outside  the  door. 

"I  tell  you  I  will  go  in,"  said  Harry  An- 
son's  voice. 

In  another  moment  the  Whip's  jockey  had 
forced  his  way  into  the  room. 


208 


CHAPTER  XIV 

COFFEE  AND  REPARTEE 

KELLY  recognized   the  Whip's  jockey  at 
once. 

"Harry  Anson!"  he  exclaimed.  "Oh! 
Since  he's  dropped  in  so  friendly  like,  see 
if  you  can't  settle  something  with  him.  I'm 
off.  Hello,  Harry." 

He  crossed  partially  to  the  door  and  then 
beckoned  the  despondent  Captain  to  one 
side. 

"But  when  the  race  is  over,  remember, 
you've  got  to  settle  with  me,"  he  warned 
finally,  and  was  gone. 

Angrily  Sartoris  turned  upon  the  jockey. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  bursting  into  my 
rooms  like  this?"  he  said. 

Harry's  answer  was  direct  and  to  the 
point 

209 


THE  WHIP 


"I've  come  here  after  my  sister.  Where 
is  she?"  he  shouted,  almost  shaking  his  fist 
in  the  other's  face. 

"What's  your  sister  to  me?"  answered  Sar- 
toris  in  apparent  disgust. 

"That's  what  I  want  to  know,"  returned 
the  jockey,  "and  that's  what  I  mean  to  know 
before  I  go  out  of  this  room." 

"She's  not  here,"  said  Sartoris. 

"You're  a  liar,"  instantly  responded  the 
jockey.  "I  watched  her  come  in  half  an 
hour  ago,  and  she's  not  come  out.  Where's 
that  door  go  to?" 

He  pointed  to  the  door  behind  which 
Myrtle  was  hiding. 

"What's  that  to  you?"  demanded  Sartoris. 

"I'll  show  you." 

Anson  started  for  the  door,  but  the  Cap- 
tain blocked  his  way. 

"You  won't,"  he  said. 

The  jockey  picked  up  a  heavy  decanter 
from  the  table. 

210 


COFFEE  AND  REPARTEE 

"Get  out  of  my  way,  or  I'll — "  he  shouted, 
as  he  sprang  toward  Sartoris. 

But  the  door  opened  suddenly  and  Myrtle 
rushed  between  them. 

"Harry,"  she  exclaimed. 

Her  brother  let  the  decanter  fall  to  the 
floor,  where  it  broke  into  pieces. 

"Myrtle,"  Harry  exclaimed  in  an  agony. 
"It's  true,  then?  You  were  here  with  him 
alone?  Myrtle,  tell  me  I'm  thinking  wrong 
of  you!"  Her  head  dropped.  "Look  me 
in  the  face — tell  me — " 

Her  head  was  still  bowed. 

"I  can't,"  she  said  brokenly. 

A  half  sob  came  from  Harry  as  he  sank 
into  a  chair. 

"Myrtle — my  little  sister,"  he  groaned. 
"You  his— his— " 

Down  by  his  side  the  girl  knelt. 

"Harry,  Harry,  don't — you  a  man — cry 
for  me  like  that — I'm  not  worth  it,"  she 
said. 

211 


THE  WHIP 


For  a  moment  the  jockey  raised  his  head 
while  the  tears  coursed  down  his  cheeks. 

"Ah,  Myrtle!  You  was  once — worth  all 
the  world  before — you  met  him,"  he  sobbed. 

The  drawling  and  unfeeling  voice  of  Sar- 
toris  broke  in  upon  the  anguish  of  the 
brother  and  sister. 

"See  here,  my  lad,"  he  said,  elevating  his 
eyebrows,  "suppose  for  one  moment  we  look 
at  the  matter  coolly — " 

Abruptly  Harry  pushed  his  sister  back  as 
he  got  to  his  feet. 

"Coolly,"  he  said,  "when  youVe  ruined 

my  sister!     Look  at  it  coolly!    Why,  every 

drop  of  blood  in  my  body  would  cry  shame 

on  me  if  I  did.     Call  yourself  a  gentleman!" 

—he  was  standing  directly  before  Sartoris 

now — "Well,  I'm  little  better  than  a  stable 

lad,   but  I  wouldn't  treat  any  woman  as 

you've  treated  her — a  motherless  girl — with 

no  one  in  the  world  but  me." 

212 


COFFEE  AND  REPARTEE 

"My  good  boy,  I  assure  you—  "  drawled 
on  Sartoris. 

His  tone  again  infuriated  the  boy. 

"Curse  your  assurance,"  said  Harry. 
"There's  only  one  thing  I  want  to  hear  from 
you.  Are  you  going  to  marry  my  sister — 
yes  or  no." 

"No,"  said  Sartoris  clearly. 

Maddened,  Harry  plunged  one  hand  into 
his  pocket,  and  the  next  moment  was  cover- 
ing the  Captain  with  a  revolver. 

The  girl  rushed  toward  him,  but  at  his 
stern  command  of  "stand  back,"  she 
stopped. 

But  Sartoris  did  not  lose  his  presence  of 
mind. 

"Oh,  fire  away,  my  little  fellow,"  he  said 
in  his  slow  voice,  "but  if  you  shoot  as  straight 
as  you  ride  you  won't  make  your  sister  a 
widow,  and  I  shan't  be  able  to  make  her  a 
wife." 

213 


THE  WHIP 


The  unexpected  directness  of  this  attack 
upon  his  emotions  disconcerted  the  boy,  and 
involuntarily  he  lowered  his  weapon. 

"Quite  so,"  said  Sartoris,  and  then  to  point 
out  clearly  to  the  other  his  own  lack  of 
nerves,  he  drew  himself  a  cup  of  coffee  from 
the  still  simmering  machine. 

"Have  a  cup?"  he  asked,  "No?  Well, 
then  let's  take  all  that  as  said — and  talk 
sense.  You  want  me  to  marry  your  sister. 
I  don't  want  the  Whip  to  win  the  Two 
Thousand.  I've  backed  something  else. 
Lord  Beverley  never  bets.  It  would  do  no 
harm  if  you  didn't  ride  your  best." 

"I  ride  my  best  or  not  at  all,"  returned 
the  jockey,  forgetting  his  own  misery  at  the 
moment,  at  thought  of  his  glorious  horse. 

"Not  what  I  mean,"  said  Sartoris.  "Ride 
the  Whip  by  all  means,  but  pull  her  a  little, 
my  good  boy — and  perhaps  I'll— 

"You  dare  say  that  to  me,  who's  always 
214 


COFFEE  AND  REPARTEE 

been  an  honest  lad,"  came  from  the  jockey. 

"Do  you  prefer  that  to  her  being  an  'hon- 
est' " — began  Sartoris. 

Harry  had  now  absently  placed  his  re- 
volver on  Sartoris's  writing  table,  and  he 
had  forgotten  it. 

Quickly  Myrtle  went  to  Harry  as  a  cry  of 
indignation  came  from  both  brother  and 
sister. 

"That's  the  price,"  continued  Lady 
Diana's  cousin.  "Here's  your  chance. 
What  d'you  say?" 

Before  Harry  could  frame  a  reply  Myrtle 
had  answered. 

"No,"  she  said,  strongly,  her  head  now 
erect  and  proud.  "Do  you  think  I'd  buy 
my  honor  at  the  price  of  his?  No.  You've 
robbed  me,  but  you  shan't  rob  him.  If  I 
must  face  shame — I'll  face  it  alone." 

"No,  you  won't;  not  while  I'm  here,  lass," 
said  the  brother  to  his  sister.  "We'll  go  to 
215 


THE  WHIP 


his  lordship  straight.     He'll  see  justice  done 

when  he  knows  what  you  are,  Captain  Sar- 

• 

toris." 

"And  what  she  is,"  put  in  Sartoris  quick- 
ly. "Don't  forget  that.  Hold  your  tongue 
and  I'm  quite  willing  to  provide  for  her — 
and  hold  mine.  But  talk— of  her — or  her 
lovers — " 

Myrtle  gave  a  sudden  exclamation  at  Sar- 
toris's  threat,  but  Harry  put  his  arm  about 
her. 

"Come  away,  lass,"  he  said.  "It's  a  fine 
thing,  sir,  of  a  gentleman  to  foul  a  girl's 
good  name — to  try  to  break  a  poor  lad's 
pride — but  you  can't.  As  for  your  money, 
she'd  never  touch  a  farthing.  Lord  knows 
what  dirty  way  it  was  got.  We're  going 
now,  but  when  we  meet,  if  her  sorrow  does 
tie  my  tongue — mind  this — I'm  just  a  stable 
lad,  but  I'm  honest,  and  whenever  I  look  you 
straight  in  the  face,  I  know  you  for  the  ly- 
ing dog  you  are!" 

216 


COFFEE  AND  REPARTEE 

When  they  had  gone  Sartoris  stretched 
himself  on  a  sofa,  and  lighting  a  fresh  cig- 
arette, buried  his  aristocratic  nose  deep  in 
the  evening  paper.  It  was  not  the  first  oc- 
casion of  its  kind  in  which  Greville  Sar- 
toris had  played  a  similar  part 


217 


CHAPTER  XV 

AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 

THE  WHIP'S  trainer,  Tom  Lambert,  had 
gone  to  Madame  Tussaud's  primarily  out  of 
vanity.  He  had  had  the  chance  to  act  as 
guide  to  a  party  of  the  upper  servants  of  Fal- 
conhurst,  and  as  he  had  visited  the  place 
seven  years  before  he  thought  that  this  would 
be  a  fine  opportunity  to  display  his  knowl- 
edge. 

The  little  party  had  entered  the  Chamber 
of  Horrors,  and  all  stood  transfixed,  gazing 
at  the  villainous  caricatures  of  famous  mur- 
derers, when  suddenly  one  of  the  girls 
started  and  screamed.  Lambert  turned 
round  sharply. 

"Confound  it,  Mary,  what  the  deuce — " 
he  began. 

"Oh!  I  saw  it  move!"  the  girl  cried. 
218 


AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 

"What?" 

"I  don't  know/'  she  answered,  lamely, 
ashamed  of  her  spasm  of  fear. 

"I  want  to  see  Dr.  Crippen!"  wailed  little 
Henry. 

"Be  quiet,"  said  Mrs.  Bunting,  the  wife 
of  the  head  whip. 

"I — I'll  wait  for  you  upstairs,"  murmured 
Mary,  moving  off.  The  girl  had  had  her 
fill  of  the  excitement. 

"What  are  you  frightened  of?  They're 
only  dummies,"  Lambert  told  her.  "And 
'ere,  all  of  you,  don't  look  as  if  you  was  at 
a  funeral.  We've  come  'ere  to  enjoy  our- 
selves." 

"I  want  to  see  Dr.  Crippen!"  howled  little 
Henry  again. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  want?"  the  trainer 
asked  the  boy  sharply. 

"No!" 

"I  want  to  smack  your  'ead  and  I'll  do  it 
in  a  minute,"  Lambert  admonished  him. 
219 


THE  WHIP 


"I  want  to  see  Dr.  Crippen  first,"  the  lad 
persisted. 

"O — very  well — which  is  it?  'ere  you 
are!"  said  Lambert,  looking  at  the  names 
on  the  high  enclosure  which  contained  the 
most  infamous  of  the  exhibits.  He  caught 
hold  of  the  child  and  held  him  up  to  one  of 
the  wax  figures — not  the  celebrated  doctor 
at  all,  as  it  happened.  "That's  Dr.  Crip- 
pen — nice  beauty,  isn't  he — just  your  living 
image — wouldn't  you  like  to  kiss  'im?" 

"No!  I  want  another!"  the  boy  pro- 
tested. 

Lambert  looked  at  his  young  charge  in 
surprise. 

"Another  what?"  he  asked. 

"I  want  another  Dr.  Crippen!" 

"Another  Doc  .  .  .!"  and  with  decision 

Lambert  said,  "Mrs.  Bunting,  this  child's 

not  well.     You  ought  to  give  'im  something 

every   night — and    see    the    Doctor    every 

220 


AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 

mornin'.  If  'e  was  mine  I  know  what  I'd 
give  'im,"  and  he  flourished  his  walking- 
stick  in  the  air.  "Peevish  little  beast,  al- 
ways 'owling  and  'ollering — the  child's  in 
pain  it's  my  belief — if  I  had  a  child  with 
a  face  like  that  I  should  say  it  meant  one 
of  two  things — either  he'd  pinched  a  tanner 
from  the  collection  plate  or  he'd  swallowed 
a  bit  of  slate  pencil." 

"There's  nothing  wrong  with  'im,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Bunting,  "but  he's  growing 
every  day." 

"Growing  a  bigger  nuisance  every  day," 
growled  Lambert,  "always  interfering  and 
interrupting  his  betters — spoiling  everyone's 
pleasure."  He  turned  again  to  his  cata- 
logue. "Now  where  are  we?  'The  Six 
Stages  of  Wrong.  A  graphic  record  of  a 
downward  career.' ' 

"What's  it  all  about,  Tom?"  asked  Bunt- 
ing, avoiding  his  wife's  malevolent  eye. 
221 


THE  WHIP 


"Who's  the  lady?"  Bunting  persisted, 
pointing  to  an  intense  looking  figure  of  a 
female. 

Lambert  searched  his  catalogue. 

"'Number  288,  Miss  Christabel  Pank- 

hurst,  eldest  daughter  of .  .  .  for  this 

she  suffered  one  week's  imprisonment  and 
afterwards' — no,  'ang  it,  that's  the  wrong 
page — come  to  the  next  group.  You  see 
what's  the  matter.  It's  like  this,  this  cove 
he's  been  playing  bridge  with  a  bloke  that 
knew  a  bit — the  money  w^hat  he  lost  is  the 
money  what  'is  master  'ad  given  'im  to  pay 
for  the  lamp  oil — then  'e  comes  and  meets 
this  gentleman — tells  'im  the  tale — bites  'is 
ear  for  a  bit,  and  'ere — move  up  one  please 
— 'ere  the  bloke  wants  'is  money  back — why 
shouldn't  'e? — that  makes  the  first  bloke 
nasty,  goes  to  the  other  bloke's  office  at  night 
and  'its  'im  on  the  'ead — well,  of  course,  any 
bloke  as  does  that  sort  of  thing  gets  ruined 


222 


AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 


-it  might  'appen  to  you  or  to  me  to-mor- 


row." 


"I  want  to  see  Dr.  Crippen !"  the  little  boy 
whimpered. 

"Be  quiet,"  Lambert  begged.  "Will  no 
one  give  that  child  a  banana?  Now  up  'ere 
this  is  the  stocks,  which  they  used  to  use  in 
the  Royal  Exchange,  which  is  why  they  still 
call  it  the  Stock  Exchange — some  people 
say  they  ought  to  use  'em  still.  'Number 
270.  The  'Ampstead  Tragedy,'  "  he  read. 
"  'Mrs.  Pearcy  and  the  Actual  Perambula- 


tor.' 


"What  was  she   doing  with  it?"   asked 
Bunting. 

The   trainer  looked   again   at  his   cata- 
logue. 

"Left  the  kid  at  'ome  and  goin'  for  the 
washing,  I  suppose,"  he  replied.  "The 
original  iron  gates  from  Newgate,  through 
which  Jack  Shepard  escaped,"  he  continued, 
reading  from  the  book. 
223 


THE  WHIP 


"My  word!  I  wonder  'ow  'e  did  it!" 
Bunting  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

"I  want  to  see  Dr.  Crippenl"  little  Henry 
persisted. 

"Will  no  one  give  that  child  a  banana?" 
Lambert's  patience  was  all  but  exhausted. 

The  trainer  continued  to  explain  as  best 
he  could  the  mysteries  of  that  awful  room, 
and  had  piloted  his  gaping  friends  to  one 
side  of  the  room,  where  they  were  busily 
engaged  in  examining  some  ancient  instru- 
ment of  torture,  when  two  men  entered. 
One  was  the  superintendent  of  the  Wax 
Works,  and  the  other  his  head-workman. 
The  two  approached  the  structure — an  affair 
much  like  a  jury-box — where  Dr.  Crippen 
stood  stiffly  among  his  nefarious  associates. 

"You  see,  sir,"  said  the  head-workman, 

"Wainwright's  firm  as  can  be  since  we  had 

his  feet  seen  to.     It's  this  'ere  Dr.  Crippen 

as  gives  all  the  trouble.     If  I  could  only 

224 


AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 

take  'im  away  now,  sir,  we  could  put  him  all 
right  by  Monday." 

"Yes,  but  it's  Saturday,"  objected  the  su- 
perintendent, not  wishing  to  deprive  any  of 
his  Saturday  night  visitors  of  the  pleas- 
ure of  gazing  upon  the  celebrated  doctor. 

"So  it  is,  sir — but  it's  nigh  on  closing 
time,  an'  I  got  the  van  at  the  door." 

"Is  there  room?"  asked  his  superior. 

"Rather,  sir — I'm  only  taking  Mr. 
Churchill,  Miss  Maude  Hallen,  and  the 
Kaiser  for  a  touch-up.  'Arry  Lauder  and 
King  Halfonso  will  stand  hover  till  after 
the  'olidays." 

"Very  well  then,"  the  superintendent  as- 
sented, and  he  took  the  figure  of  Dr.  Crip- 
pen  by  the  arm  and  rocked  it  slightly. 
"Yes — it  is  hardly  safe." 

The  head-workman  beckoned  to  his  as- 
sistants who  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Come  along,  boys!"  and  he  opened  the 
225 


THE  WHIP 


door  of  the  platform.  "Dr.  Crippen—  "  he 
directed — "and  into  the  van — sharp  1  Beg 
pardon,  sir,"  he  continued,  turning  to  his 
chief,  "but  I'll  be  bringing  back  President 
Roosevelt  on  Monday.  Shall  I  put  him  up 
alongside  the  lions?" 

"He  might  be  more  appropriate  inside 
'em,"  the  superintendent  answered,  for  he 
was  of  a  facetious  turn — a  saving  grace  in  a 
wax  works  employe. 

Unnoticed  by  the  Falconhurst  sightseers, 
Dr.  Crippen  was  borne  ignominously  away, 
while  the  fascinated  visitors  worked  their 
way  around  the  room,  until  they  reached  the 
jury-box  again. 

"  'Number  323.  William  Palmer  of 
'Rugely,' "  Lambert  read,  stopping  before 
one  of  the  figures.  "  'A  cold-blooded  as- 
sassin. Under  the  guise  of  love  and  friend- 
ship he  sacrificed  his  victims  to  satisfy  his 
lust  for  gold;  and  callous  to  the  voice  of 
nature  he  smiled  upon  his  crimes.  He  was 
226 


AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 

an  owner  of  race-horses' — I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  it."  And  then,  moving  down  the 
line  of  staring  monstrosities,  he  began — 

"This  chap  in  the  bath — but  Mrs.  Bunt- 
ing is  present — "  and  the  trainer  stopped 
abruptly,  his  native  modesty  forbidding  him 
to  dilate  upon  such  a  subject.  He  passed 
to  another  exhibit. 

"  'Marwood,  the  executioner,  taken  from 
life!'"  he  read. 

"Lor!  Did  they  'ang  the  'angman?" 
asked  Bunting. 

"I  want  to  see  Dr.  Crippen!"  Little 
Henry  felt  that  his  wishes  deserved  some  no- 
tice. 

"Will  nobody  give  that  child — a  real 
good  'iding!  Just  when  I'm  doing  my  best 
to  liven  you  up,  improve  your  minds,  and 
tell  you  all  about  it,  interrupts  me  every 
minute!"  Lambert  protested.  He  closed 
his  catalogue  with  a  snap. 

"If  you  want  to  know  any  more  about  it 
227 


THE  WHIP 


you  can  read  your  catalogue  for  yourselves," 
he  finished,  mopping  his  forehead. 

"The  dear  child's  tired,  that  'e  is.  Ain't 
you  'Enery  Claude?"  said  the  boy's  mother, 
as  she  took  his  hand,  and  frowned  resent- 
fully at  their  discouraged  guide. 

"Oh!  take  'im  on  upstairs,"  said  Bunting, 
as  the  boy  began  to  cry. 

"Come  along,  'Enery.  You  shall  have  a 
nice  stale  bun  in  the  refreshment  room,"  and 
with  these  soothing  words,  Mrs.  Bunting 
led  the  disappointed  youngster  away  to  the 
upper  and  less  terrible  regions,  followed  by 
the  others.  Lambert  alone  remained  be- 
hind, for  as  he  waited  to  act  as  a  sort  of  rear 
guard  to  his  retiring  forces,  he  caught  sight 
of  Myrtle  Anson,  who  had  entered  unseen 
by  the  others  and  was  now  standing  in  the 
shadow  of  an  alcove.  She  motioned  silently 
to  the  trainer. 

"Why,  Myrtle,  my  lass,"  he  exclaimed 
kindly. 

228 


AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 

The  girl  plunged  at  once  into  her  errand 
with  him. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  something — you  alone 
— and  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  what- 
ever I  tell  you  you  won't  tell  anyone — even 
that  I  told  you." 

"Of  course  I  will,  my  lass,"  he  said. 
"What's  wrong." 

"It's  about  the  Whip.  Someone  wants  to 
stop  her  winning,"  she  said,  realizing  that 
her  task  would  be  very  difficult  if  she  were 
going  to  succeed  in  telling  just  what  she 
wanted  to  without  telling  all. 

"Lots  do,  but  they  won't,"  answered  the 
confident  trainer,  not  taking  her  at  all  seri- 
ously. "She'll  just  romp  in." 

"But  this  is  one  who  means  to  stop  her 
by  fair  means  or  foul,"  she  went  on.  "He 
tried  to  get  Harry  to  pull  her." 

"And  Harry  knocked  him  down,  I  hope," 
snorted  the  trainer. 

"He  couldn't  do  that — but — but — he  re- 
229 


THE  WHIP 


fused — you  know  he  would — and — he 
wasn't  going  to  speak — for — for  my  sake— 
but  I  couldn't  rest."  The  girl  was  becom- 
ing confused  in  her  effort  to  tell  but  a 
part  of  the  truth,  the  part  that  would  serve 
merely  as  a  warning.  "I  was  afraid  that 
he — the  person — might  try  and  injure  the 
Whip — some  way  to  prevent  her  run- 
ning—" 

"Who  is  he?"  sternly  asked  the  aroused 
horseman. 

"I  don't  want  to  tell  you  that,"  she  said. 
"Don't  ask  me.  I  only  came  to  warn  you 
to  watch  the  horse  so  that  they  mayn't  have 
a  chance  to  injure  her." 

"How  can  I,  when  I  don't  know  where 
the  danger's  coming  from?"  continued 
Lambert,  the  drops  appearing  on  his  fore- 
head, as  he  tried  to  penetrate  behind  her 
words.  "Look  here,  Myrtle,  my  lass, 
you've  told  me  so  much,  you've  got  to  tell 
me  the  rest.  Come,  now,  I've  got  to  know 
230 


AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 

the  man's  name  who  wants  to  nobble  the 
Whip." 

"No,  no!" 

"But  I  say,  yes!  It's  your  duty  to  them 
as  has  reared  you  and  looked  to  you  all  your 
life.  Out  with  it — what's  his  name?" 

Under  his  compelling  earnestness  the 
girl's  head  drooped.  Then  she  raised  it 
bravely  and,  looking  him  square  in  the  eye, 
said: 

"It's  Captain  Sartoris." 

"His  lordship's  cousin — you're  dream- 
ing," he  said  in  amazement. 

"I'm  not,"  she  asserted.  "I  wish  I  were. 
I  swear  it." 

Into  the  agonized  senses  of  the  trainer 
there  came  to  him  from  the  hall  outside  a 
voice  he  knew  and  loved  and  feared  well, 
too. 

Mrs.  Beamish  was  saying: 

"Oh,  my  good  woman,  don't  come  and 
bother  me." 

231 


THE  WHIP 


Lambert  fairly  leaped  into  the  air. 

"That's  her  voice,  a  thousand  to  nothing," 
he  lamented. 

"Mrs.  Beamish!"  the  girl  exclaimed. 

"Yes,"  went  on  the  perturbed  trainer, 
"and  if  she  catches  you  and  me  together 
again,  I'm  done  for —  Run  away,  my  gal 
— for  goodness'  sake,  go  away — right  out  of 
the  building — write  to  me — I  mean  I'll 
write  to  you — we'll  keep  writing  to  one  an- 
other." 

He  was  now  hopping  up  and  down  in  his 
agitation. 

"Is  this  the  Chamber  of  Horrors?"  he 
heard  the  voice  he  feared  so  much  asking 
outside. 

"I  should  say  it  was,"  groaned  Tom. 

Myrtle  was  amused  for  the  moment. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked. 

"Goodness  knows,"  he  said,  looking  about 
the  room  for  another  means  of  exit.  But 
he  could  find  none.  Finally  he  scanned 
232 


AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 

closely  each  little  den  and  even  each  figure 
in  turn.  His  eyes  fell  upon  the  jury-box 
and  the  vacant  place  in  the  group  of  mur- 
derers where  Dr.  Crippen  had  stood. 

"Do?"  he  repeated,  as  a  sudden  inspira- 
tion came  to  him.  "I'm  going  to  be  Dr. 
Crippen." 

In  a  moment  he  had  darted  up  the  little 
flight  of  steps  that  led  into  the  jury-box,  had 
stepped  over  the  railing,  and  was  standing 
posing  in  the  place  lately  occupied  by  the 
wax  figure  of  Dr.  Crippen.  A  black  silk 
handkerchief  he  had  taken  from  another 
figure  he  tied  about  his  throat,  so  that  it 
somewhat  resembled  the  celebrated  doctor's 
beard. 

He  had  barely  assumed  his  motionless 
pose,  when  Mrs.  Beamish  entered,  followed 
at  a  distance  by  a  young  woman  in  the 
shabby  weeds  of  a  poor  widow. 

Myrtle  turned  and  came  face  to  face  with 
Mrs.  Beamish.  The  latter  had  known  that 
233 


THE  WHIP 


Tom  Lambert  was  to  guide  the  Falconhurst 
servants  through  the  place  and  had  drawn 
her  own  conclusions. 

"Good  evening,  ma'am,"  said  Myrtle 
quite  respectfully. 

"More  than  can  be  said  of  the  evening's 
work,"  commented  the  outraged  Mrs. 
Beamish,  as  she  glanced  about.  "Where's 
your  accomplice?" 

"My  what,  ma'am?"  the  girl  asked. 

"The  man  you've  been  keeping  an  assig- 
nation with,"  snapped  Lady  Diana's  com- 
panion. 

"I  have  kept  no  assignation  with  any 
man,"  the  girl  said,  her  tones  still  respectful 
toward  this  woman  whose  jealousy  she  knew 
and  sympathized  with. 

"You  may  tell  that  to  the  marines,  my 
girl,"  went  on  the  jealous  woman.  "I  know 
better,  and  you  ought  to.  A  man  old 
enough  to  be  your  father,  and  ugly  enough 
to  frighten  the  crows." 
234 


AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 

"I  don't — "  began  Myrtle. 

"You  may  go  now,"  said  Mrs.  Beamish, 
and  Myrtle,  who  had  not  relished  this  scene 
with  the  jealous  woman,  went  at  once. 

As  Mrs.  Beamish  turned  from  the  girl 
she  brushed  against  the  woman  who  had 
been  following  her. 

"What  do  you  want,  pray?"  asked  Lam- 
bert's elderly  flame. 

"Nothing,  madam,"  returned  the  woman, 
"I  thought  you  seemed  to  want  somebody." 

"So  I  do  and  only  let  me  catch  him," 
snapped  Mrs.  Beamish. 

"If  you  could  describe  him,  my  lady,"  said 
the  other. 

"I  can't.  Language  fails — dictionary 
language." 

"What's  he  like?" 

Mrs.  Beamish  had  been  looking  about  her 

busily,  seeking  Lambert.     Her  eyes  for  the 

past  few  moments  had  been  traveling  down 

the  line  of  the  murderers  in  the  jury-box. 

235 


THE  WHIP 


Suddenly  they  rested  upon  the  posing  Lam- 
bert and  recognized  him. 

"So  that's  it,  is  it?"  she  remarked  in  her 
hardest  and  dryest  voice.  "The  wretch." 

Lambert,  however,  seeing  her  eyes  leave 
him,  was  sure  that  she  had  not  recognized 
him. 

To  the  other  woman  Mrs.  Beamish  turned 
and  then  pointing  to  the  murderers  she  asked 
for  Lambert's  benefit: 

"What  are  those?" 

"Those  are  murderers,  madam,"  said  the 
woman. 

"They  look  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Beamish, 
her  voice  cutting  Lambert  to  the  quick,  "ev- 
ery man  Jack  of  them — especially  that  one 
in  the  corner  with  the  hideous  red  face." 
She  glanced  into  the  catalogue  she  carried. 
"No.  9 — Dr.  Crippen.  Just  what  I  should 
have  guessed.  You  can  see  the  man  is  a 
monster  of  wickedness." 
236 


AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 

"So  you  can,  my  lady,"  agreed  the  other. 

Lambert  shook  in  his  boots,  but  not  with 
amusement. 

"Crime  written  large  across  his  ugly  face 
in  every  line  of  it,"  resumed  Mrs.  Beam- 
ish, who  was  having  her  revenge.  "And 
there  are  a  good  many  of  them — a  hardened 
old  villain.  I  could  believe  anything  of  a 
man  with  that  face." 

"So  could  I,  my  lady,"  agreed  her  com- 
panion readily. 

"Yes — and  he's  extraordinarily  like  a  man 
I've  known  and  suspected  for  a  long  time." 

"Lor',  lady,  that  ain't  no  compliment  to 
the  gentleman." 

"He  isn't  a  gentleman,"  said  Lambert's 
punisher.  "He's  quite  a  common  person — * 
and  behaves  himself  as  such." 

"You  don't  say  so,  lady!" 

"Don't  I,  though!  And  that's  nothing  to 
what  I  could  say.  But  there,  I  can't  look 
237 


THE  WHIP 


at  the  creature.  It  makes  me  quite  ill,  and 
I'm  tired.  I  shall  sit  down  for  a  bit — until 
they  turn  the  people  out." 

She  seated  herself  directly  below  the  jury- 
box  and  beneath  Lambert.  Involuntarily 
the  trainer,  who  had  been  finding  it  difficult 
to  hold  his  pose  and  keep  his  face  as  ex- 
pressionless as  wax,  groaned. 

Instantly  the  woman  who  had  been  talk- 
ing with  Mrs.  Beamish  exclaimed: 

"Lor,  what  was  that?" 

"What?" 

"Didn't  you  hear  it?  Sounded  like  a 
groan." 

Mrs.  Beamish  had  known  perfectly  what 
the  sound  was,  but  she  had  a  very  definite 
plan  in  her  mind  regarding  Lambert,  and 
she  pretended  that  she  had  not  heard. 

"Well,  why  not?"  she  responded,  "it's  the 
Chamber  of  Horrors.     I  dare  say  it's  done 
by    machinery — somebody    suffering    tor- 
tures— or  on  the  rack — or  something." 
238 


AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 

As  Mrs.  Beamish  laid  her  gold  mesh  bag 
down  on  the  bench  beside  her,  just  under  a 
sign  "Beware  of  pickpockets,"  the  other 
woman  sank  down  on  the  bench  with  a 
smothered  "Oh!" 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Mrs.  Beam- 
ish anxiously. 

"It's  my  hunger,  my  lady,"  she  said. 
"I'm  out  of  work.  I  haven't  had  a  morsel 
of  food  all  day.  I  came  in  here  thinking 
that  some  kind  of  person  might  assist  me, 
but—" 

Mrs.  Beamish  passed  to  the  other  a  very 
handsome  bottle  of  smelling  salts,  which  the 
woman  kept. 

"Feel  any  better?"  asked  Mrs.  Bea- 
mish. 

"A  little,"  confessed  the  other,  and  she 
slipped  Mrs.  Beamish's  gold  bag  into  her 
pocket. 

"Oh,  my  lady,  how  kind  you  are,"  she 
added,  as  into  her  specially  arranged  pocket 
239 


THE  WHIP 


went  all  of  the  other  loose  valuables  of  the 
jealous  Mrs.  Beamish. 

"If  you'd  let  me  offer  you  something," 
and  Mrs.  Beamish's  hand  made  a  movement 
vaguely  toward  the  place  where  her  purse 
had  been. 

But  the  other  knew  the  impulse  and  fore- 
stalled it. 

"No,  no,  my  lady^"  she  said;  "I  know  you 
mean  kindly,  but  don't  spoil  it.  Poor  I  may 
be,  and  unhappy  I  am — but  I  has  my  pride." 

She  was  half  way  to  the  door  now. 

"Thank  heaven  I  has  my  pride,  my  lady," 
she  said  once  again  and  was  gone. 

"Poor,  dear  soul,"  commented  Mrs. 
Beamish  aloud  to  the  unbounded  delight  of 
poor  Lambert,  who  did  not  dare  move,  "and 
so  dignified  in  her  sorrow.  What  hard  lives 
some  people  have." 

There  was  a  suspicion  of  tears  in  her  eyes, 
and  she  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket  to  find 
her  handkerchief. 

240 


AT  MADAME  TUSSAUD'S 

"Why,  wherever's  my  handkerchief!"  she 
exclaimed.  Then  as  gradually  the  truth 
dawned —  "And — and  my  purse,  and 
where's  my  gold  bag?  That  woman!" 

In  a  moment  more  she  was  running  from 
the  Chamber  of  Horrors,  crying: 

"Here!     Stop  thief  I    Stop  thief  1" 


241 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LOCKED  IN 

AT  the  hen-like  retreat  of  the  Hon.  Mrs. 
Beamish,  Tom  Lambert  laughed  long  and 
loud,  repeating  some  of  her  phrases  of  pity 
for  the  old  woman  who  had  robbed  her. 

Finally,  his  mirth  over,  he  put  one  leg 
partially  across  the  jury-box  rail,  intending 
to  leave  the  place,  seek  out  Mrs.  Beamish 
and  have  a  good  laugh  at  her  expense.  But 
the  voice  of  Sartoris  and  Mrs.  D'Aquila 
outside  deterred  him,  and  again  froze  his 
face  to  a  likeness  of  his  conception  of  wax. 

Lambert  was  quite  immovable  when  Sar- 
toris and  the  woman  who  maintained  that 
she  was  the  wife  of  Brancaster  came  into  the 
Chamber  of  Horrors. 

"We  shall  be  all  right  here,"  she  said. 
242 


LOCKED  IN 


"I  suppose  there's  no  chance  of  our  getting 
shut  in?  There's  a  notice  here  about  the 
hydraulic  door  closing  automatically  after 
the  bell  rings." 

Sartoris  laughed. 

"Only  to  frighten  the  bumpkins,"  he  re- 
sponded, "and  add  to  the  horrors.  If  it  did 
close  they'd  hear  us  shout,  I  expect." 

The  chance  of  it  had  impressed  the 
woman. 

/They  wouldn't,"  she  said,  "I  noticed 
that.  There's  a  muffled  door  beyond.  And 
on  the  last  stroke  of  the  clock  every  attend- 
ant will  be  rushing  out  for  a  drink.  Satur- 
day night,  you  know.  I  don't  want  to  be 
locked  in  here  until  Monday." 

"In  the  dark,  too!"  commented  the  other. 
"If  it  comes  off  I'll  sit  and  hold  your  hand." 

Directly  beneath  Lambert  and  in  the  same 
spot  formerly  occupied  by  Mrs.  Beamish, 
Mrs.  D'Aquila  seated  herself  and  motioned 
the  Captain  to  her  side. 
243 


THE  WHIP 


"Well,  sit  and  talk  quickly,"  she  said. 
"I'm  in  a  hurry.  I've  brought  you  all  I 
could  spare."  She  gave  to  him  a  number 
of  bank  notes  from  her  purse.  "Notes — I 
thought  you'd  prefer  them — three  hundred 
— toward  that  interest." 

"Shan't  ever  be  grateful  enough,"  he  said. 

"Quite  sure  you  won't,"  she  responded. 

"I'll  give  you  something  in  return,"  he 
went  on,  gloomily. 

"How  sweet  of  you ;  what  is  it?" 

"Bad  news!" 

"Good  gracious!" 

"That  horse  of  Beverley's — the  Whip — > 
has  been  tried — a  flyer — the  Two  Thou- 
sand's a  certainty." 

There  was  one  moment  while  Sartoris  was 
giving  this  piece  of  stable  information  when 
Lambert,  the  Whip's  trainer,  had  much  dif- 
ficulty in  remembering  that  he  was  an  image 
of  wax.  He  moved  suddenly  and  had  great 
trouble  in  not  leaving  his  perch  and  giv- 
244 


LOCKED  IN 


ing  Sartoris  the  threshing  he  knew  he  de- 
served. But  he  believed  that,  since  they 
were  now  on  the  subject  of  his  beloved  horse, 
patience  would  be  vastly  rewarded. 

Mrs.  D'Aquila  had  not  seemed  startled  at 
what  Sartoris  had  said. 

"That  doesn't  sound  bad,"  she  said.  "If 
one  had  a  bit  on,  at  say,  twenty— 

"No  chance,"  the  Captain  interrupted. 
"Di  must  have  told  Brancaster,  for  he 
caught  Kelly,  the  big  book-maker,  half 
drunk  and  off  his  guard  and  rushed  him 
with  three  big  bets.  If  the  Whip  wins,  he'll 
win  a  fortune." 

"Brancaster,"  she  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of 
gloom,  now  thoroughly  aroused. 

"Yes,  he'll  have  lots  of  money  to  fight 
you  with.  If  the  horse  gets  beat  he'll  be 
nearly  broke." 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  D'Aquila  was  in  deep 
thought. 

"Horses  do  get  beat  sometimes,"  she  said. 
245 


THE  WHIR 


"Yes,"  said  Sartoris  equally  gloomy. 
"That's  what  Kel — what  a  chap  I  know  said. 
When  Klarikoff  was  favorite  for  the  Leger 
he  got  burnt  in  his  box." 

"In  his  stable?"  she  asked. 

"No,  horse-box  on  the  railway,"  he  re- 
turned. 

"I  wonder  how  it  was  done,"  she  said  in 
a  tone  that  might  have  stood  for  the  sug- 
gestion of  an  evil  deed,  so  sinister  it  was. 

Sartoris  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Accident,"  he  said  in  his  thin  voice. 
"I'd  give  something  for  another." 

"You  would?"  she  asked  in  a  peculiar 
tone. 

"Yes,"  he  said  frankly.  "I've  had  a 
plunge  on  something  else.  I  want  to  see 
the  Whip  beaten.  I  must  see  her  beaten. 
That's  why  I  told  you.  You've  got  quick 
wits—" 

"The  jockey,"  she  suggested. 

"Honest  idiot." 

246 


LOCKED  IN 


"The  stable?" 

"Guarded  like  the  Sultan's  harem!  Bev- 
erley's  pet  fad." 

"Yes,  the  train's  the  place,"  she  said  mu- 
singly? getting  to  her  feet. 

Puzzled,  Sartoris  also  arose. 

"How?  His  lad  and  probably  his  clown 
of  a  trainer,  Lambert,  will  travel  with  him 
in  the  box,"  he  said. 

"When  does  he  travel?"  she  asked. 

"To-morrow.  They'll  stop  the  evening 
train  to  Grantham  by  signal  at  Falconhurst, 
tack  the  box  on  behind,  and  slip  it  at  Men- 
field,  where  the  down  express  will  pick  it 
up—" 

"Slip  it — "  she  said,  while  her  thoughts 
were  busy  on  some  sudden  problem. 

"Yes,"  he  explained.  "It's  what  they  al- 
ways do,  don't  you  know,  pull  a  string  thing 
that  undoes  the  coupling — and  the  horse- 
box slows  down  and  stops  at  the  Junction 
while  the  train  runs  through — " 
247 


THE  WHIP 


"Has — has  it  ever  gone  wrong?"  she  asked 
in  a  way  to  arouse  his  suspicions. 

"What?" 

"The  slip  business.  What  would  happen 
if  the  horse-box  were  slipped  too  soon — say 
Falconhurst  tunnel — and  left  standing  on 
the  line?" 

"The  next  train  would  see  the  red  tail- 
light  and  stop,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  world  of  potential  tragedy 
in  the  woman's  voice,  as  with  the  smile  of  a 
destiny  of  evil  she  went  on : 

"But — in  the — dark — it  will  be  dark — if 
someone  had  dropped  off  the  tail-light  be- 
fore the  next  train  could  stop?" 

"The  box  would  be  smashed,"  he  said  in 
a  dazed  fashion. 

"And  the  horse?"  She  paused  for  a  full 
moment.  Then  she  went  on : 

"The  train  does  not  run  fast  through  the 
tunnel.  IVe  been  there  dozens  of  times. 
248 


LOCKED  IN 


I've  seen  guards  do  the  thing — it's  easy 
enough — to  swing  from  carriage  to  carriage 
— along  the  foot  plate — to  drop  off  the  red 
tail-light — to  pull  the  slip — and  let  the  next 
train—" 

With  her  hands  brought  violently  to- 
gether she  let  inference  finish  her  sentence 
for  her. 

"Whom  could  one  trust?"  demanded  Sar- 
toris  suddenly. 

"When  I've  work  to  do,"  she  said,  "I 
only  trust  myself." 

"But,  you  couldn't — "  he  began. 

"No,  but  you  could — easily — if  you  were 
on  the  train,"  she  said,  "if  you  joined  it 
further  north  and  none  knew  it — you  could 
do  it — if  you  want  it  done  so  badly  and  you 
have  the  pluck — " 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  ringing  of  the 
bell  which  gave  notice  that  the  hydraulic 
door  would  close  shortly. 
249 


THE  WHIP 


"Ah,  the  door!"  she  exclaimed. 

Then  in  a  low,  but  strong  tone  she  went 
on: 

"What's  going  to  happen?  Is  the  Whip 
going  to  win — or  will  there  be  an  acci- 
dent?" 

They  left  quickly  then,  as  they  did  not 
wish  to  run  any  risk  of  being  locked  in  when 
there  was  work  to  do,  as  she  had  phrased  it. 

For  a  full  half  minute  Lambert  stared 
after  them,  then  he  leaned  over  the  jury-box 
and  shook  his  fist  in  the  direction  of  the  re- 
treating pair. 

"No  there  won't,  my  pretty  lady,"  he  said, 
aloud,  the  solitude  and  the  company  of  the 
waxen  images  inclining  him  to  hear  the 
sound  of  his  own  voice.  "There'll  be  no 
accident.  Why?  Because  that  clown  of  a 
trainer  Lambert  will  stop  it — because  he'll 
send  his  horse  safe  to  the  post  first  and  he'll 
talk  to  you  after — tell  you  what  he  heard — 
tell  you  to  your  face  what  you  are — " 
250 


LOCKED  IN 


The  second  bell  rang  and  immediately 
without  waiting  to  allow  any  who  might  be 
in  the  Chamber  of  Horrors  to  get  out,  the 
unseen  attendant  on  another  floor  pulled  a 
lever  and  the  door  closed  with  a  hard  bang. 
Lambert  was  locked  within  the  Chamber  of 
Horrors,  with  no  way  of  escape  until  Mon- 
day morning. 

"Here,  stop  that!"  he  roared,  as  he  got 
down  from  the  jury-box  and  tried  to  open 
the  door,  "I  tell  you  there's  someone  inside 
— open  the  door  at  once — don't  play  the  con- 
founded fool — I  tell  you  it's  most  important 
— let  me  out — let  me  out — " 

But  he  could  not  move  the  door.  Then 
he  put  his  hands  to  his  mouth  and  shouted: 

"Help,  help,  help!" 

All  of  the  lights  except  a  few  near  the 
ceiling  were  switched  out,  adding  to  the  ter- 
ror of  the  trainer's  situation. 

"Don't  do  that— don't  do  that!"  he  fairly 
howled.  "Stop  it — don't  leave  me  here  in 
251 


THE  WHIP 


the  dark — I  shall  go  mad — alone  here  in 
the  dark  with  these — alone  for  a  day  and  a 
night  and  another  night  till  Monday 
while—" 

Into  his  frenzied  mind  there  came 
thoughts  of  the  Whip.  At  the  picture  of  his 
beloved  and  first  member  of  the  Beverley 
string  lying  upon  some  railroad  track  dying, 
his  terror  increased  as  he  cried: 

"They  are  smashing  my  horse — they'll 
smash  the  Whip — while  I'm  locked  up  here 
— they  shan't — let  me  out  I  say — let  me 
out" 

The  manifold  tortures  of  the  situation 
were  too  much  for  the  trainer  and  he  sank 
down,  sobbing  and  screaming  while  even  the 
lights  in  the  ceiling  faded  away. 


252 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MRS.   BEAMISH  RELENTS 

MRS.  BEAMISH  was  decidedly  uneasy  as 
she  sat  in  the  morning  room  at  Falconhurst, 
on  the  evening  of  the  day  following  that  on 
which  Tom  Lambert  had  been  locked  into 
the  Chamber  of  Horrors.  Lord  Beverley 
had  been  furious  when  Lambert  failed  to 
appear,  and  Lady  Di  was  even  then  at  the 
station  to  see  the  Whip  put  safely  into  the 
horse-box  for  the  trip  to  Newmarket. 

The  Marquis  paced  up  and  down  the 
room  fretting  and  fuming. 

"You  may  say  what  you  like,  Betty,"  he 
said  to  Mrs.  Beamish,  "I  say  that  it's  noth- 
ing short  of  disgraceful.  Here's  Lambert 
— knows  perfectly  well  that  the  Whip  starts 
for  Newmarket  to-night  by  the  seven-thirty 
— and  that  he's  got  to  travel  with  her — and 
253 


THE  WHIP 


not  only  is  there  not  a  sign  of  the  man,  but 
not  a  word  from  him!" 

"Perhaps  he  thought  it  didn't  matter," 
Mrs.  Beamish  volunteered. 

"Didn't  matter!  Betty!  You're  not  gen- 
erally a  fool.  I  beg  you  won't  talk  like  one. 
Didn't  matter!  With  a  mare  that  no  one 
can  manage  but  him  and  Di — and  her 
jockey!"  The  Marquis  looked  at  his  com- 
panion with  amazement. 

"I  suppose  he  thought  the  jockey  could 
go  with  her!" 

"Of  course  he  can — and  of  course  he 
will,"  he  said.  "I've  arranged  for  that — 
but  if  Harry  Anson  goes  to  Newmarket  to- 
night— Tom  Lambert'll  go  for  good  to- 
morrow morning." 

"Perhaps  he  may  be  coming  by  the  train 
that  gets  in  from  town  at  seven-twenty,"  she 
suggested. 

"And  perhaps  he  mayn't  Betty!  You'll 
drive  me  mad  with  your  perhapses  and  sup- 
254 


MRS.  BEAMISH  RELENTS 

poses.  The  seven-twenty  is  always  late  I 
Lambert  ought  to  have  been  here  this  morn- 
ing. Why  isn't  he?  Answer  me  that! 
Why  isn't  he?"  he  demanded,  striking  the 
table  in  his  excitement. 

"How  should  I  know!  Unless — he  may 
— have  been — been — detained,"  she  said 
guiltily. 

"Detained!  Where?  Couldn't  he  wire? 
Isn't  there  the  telephone?  The  man's  not 
a  fool!" 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that!"  Mrs  Beamish 
commented. 

"But  I  am.  I  wish  I  were  as  sure — that 
he  isn't  the  other  extreme — a  rogue." 
Lord  Beverley  was  in  an  exceedingly  pessi- 
mistic frame  of  mind. 

"Tom  Lambert  a  rogue!  No! — what- 
ever he  is,  but  he's  not  that!"  Mrs.  Beam- 
ish exclaimed.  She  was  indignant  in  spite 
of  herself. 

"You  seem  to  be  very  sure  of  what  he  is 
255 


THE  WHIP 


and  what  he  isn't,  Betty.  But  let  me  tell 
you,  that  for  a  long  time  past  stable  secrets 
have  been  leaking  out  in  a  most  inexplica- 
ble way.  Now,  Lambert  is  just  the  man 
who  could  have  given  them  away,  and  I'm 
beginning  to  believe  he's  just  the  man  who 
did."  There  was  almost  conviction  in  the 
Marquis's  words. 

Mrs.  Beamish  sprang  to  her  feet  hotly. 

"And  I'll  swear — I  mean  I'll  pledge  my 
word,  he  didn't.  What!  Tom  Lambert 
do  a  dirty  trick!  Tom  Lambert  betray 
anybody's  trust — he'd  sooner  die;  he's  got 
his  little  faults,  but  an  honester  man  doesn't 
breathe.  Why  I  remember  years  ago, 
when  he  was  quite  a  lad — "  and  she  stopped 
suddenly. 

"I  daresay,"  replied  Beverley  with  irony. 
"I  don't  want  to  hear  what  happened  years 
ago — I'm  thinking  of  to-night!  I'm  think- 
ing of  the  fact  that  Di's  gone  to  see  the 
Whip  off  by  the  seven-thirty — that  it  only 
256 


MRS.  BEAMISH  RELENTS 

wants  ten  minutes  and  that  Lambert's  not 
here!  What  have  you  got  to  say  to  that?" 

"No  doubt  there's  a  reason — there's  some 
explanation." 

"Then  give  it  to  me!"  he  demanded 
grimly. 

"I  can't,"  she  told  him,  while  to  herself 
she  said,  with  woman's  perversity,  "I 
won't!" 

"Why  not,  if  you  hold  the  key!" 

"Hold  the  key!"  she  protested. 

"Of  his  conduct,"  said  her  relative  snap- 
pishly. "Hold  a  brief  for  him  if  you  like 
it  better." 

"He — he  may — have  met  with  an  acci- 
dent," she  said  lamely. 

"Let's  hope  so.  Bless  me,  I  don't  mean 
that!  But  I  do  mean  it'll  have  to  be  a  bad 
one  to  make  me  condone  his  absence.  I 
don't  want  any  more  words,  Betty.  Tom 
Lambert's  been  in  my  stables  now  for  nearly 
thirty  years,  but  so  surely  as  he  doesn't 
257 


travel  with  the  Whip  to-night — so  surely 
I'll  sack  him  to-morrow."  And  Lord  Bev- 
erly stalked  out  of  the  room. 

"Sack  him!  Sack  Tom  Lambert!"  Mrs. 
Beamish  exclaimed  to  herself  involuntarily. 
"Oh,  no!  I  didn't  bargain  for  that!"  She 
hurried  to  the  door.  "Lord  Beverley!"  she 
called,  and  then  she  stopped. 

"No!  I  daren't  tell  him  while  he's  like 
that,"  she  told  herself.  "Supposing — I 
were  to  try — to  get  Lambert — let  out! — 
What's  the  good?  It's  too  late  now — the 
mischief's  done — and  to-morrow  morning 
won't  make  it  any  worse.  No !  there  he  is 
and  there  he'll  stay,  till  the  doors  open  on 
Monday  morning.  But  I  can't  let  him  lose 
his  place — and  if  I  told  Beverley  now — a 
bull  of  Bashan  'Id  be  a  babe-in-arms  to 
him."  And  then,  with  a  sudden  inspiration 
— "I  know!  I'll  write  to  him — a  letter  he 
can  get  to-morrow  morning — and  I'll  keep 
out  of  his  way  all  day."  She  sat  down  at 
258 


MRS.  BEAMISH  RELENTS 

the  writing  table.     "That's  it!"     She  took 
up  a  pen  and  began  to  write — 

"Dear  Lord  Beverley :  Poor  as  my  opin- 
ion of  Tom  Lambert  is — "  (Looking  up  at 
clock)  "Five  and  twenty  past  seven!  Ten 
o'clock  last  night!"  (counting  on  her  fin- 
gers) "ten  to  ten's  twelve  and  ten  to  half 
past  seven's — another  nine — twenty-one 
hours  and  a  half — alone  in  the  Chamber  of 
Horrors!"  And  then,  hardening  her  heart 
she  added,  "Well,  serves  him  right!" 

"Poor  as  my  opinion  of  Tom  Lambert  is, 
I  cannot  allow  you  to  think — "  she  wrote, 
and  then  she  stopped.  "Poor  wretch!  how 
hungry  he  must  be! — and  thirsty — And  a 
good  lesson  for  him !  Let  him  dream  of  his 
Myrtle!" 

She  proceeded  with  her  letter — 

"To  think  that  his  absence  is  due  to  de- 
sign on  his  part — I  know  where  he  is — " 
She  stopped  again  and  reaching  for  the  tele- 
259 


THE  WHIP 


phone  book,  opened  it,  and  searched  the 
pages  for  a  moment. 

"Tussaud — Madam  and  Sons  Limited — 
56  Paddington,"  she  said.  "That's  it!" 
And  then  she  slammed  the  book  shut.  "No, 
I  won't!"  she  exclaimed  and  wrote  again — • 

"The  fact  is  that  he  went  to  Madam  Tus- 
saua"  s  last  night  (more  fool  he!)  and  (Poor 
Tom! — wonder  if  he's  got  any  cigars  with 
him!"  she  finished,  questioning  herself,  and 
forgetting  the  letter  entirely.) 

Then,  with  a  sudden  inspiration,  she 
seized  the  telephone  instrument,  and  taking 
up  the  receiver,  called : 

"Hullo!  are  you  there? — Yes — Trunk 
call,  please.  Get  me  56  Paddington — 5 — 6 
yes,  that's  right!  Sunday  evening,  you  can 
put  me  through  quickly?  You  can. 
Thanks." 

Mrs.  Beamish  resumed  her  writing. 
"After  all,"  she  said  to  herself,  "I  don't  see 
260 


MRS.  BEAMISH  RELENTS 

why  I  need  give  myself  away  so  much,"  and 
she  ran  her  pen  through  the  lines  that  she 
had  written,  and  began  afresh. 

"I  have  reason  to  believe  that  he  went 
with  some  of  the  others  to  Madame  Tus- 
saud's  last  night — and  I  think  it  quite  pos- 
sible that  he  may  have  stayed  too  late  and 
got  locked  in.  And  after  twenty-four  soli- 
tary hours  confinement  in  the  Chamber  of 
Horrors,  I  do  think  he's  been  punished 
sufficiently  for  his  carelessness — and  other 
things!"  she  added,  for  her  benefit  only. 

The  telephone  bell  rang  insistently,  and 
she  answered  at  once. 

"Hullo  1  What!  Through  already! 
Thanks!  Hullo!  Who's  that?  Are  you 
Madame  Tussaud's?  Who's  speaking? 
The  night  watchman?  Oh!  Have  you  got 
the  keys — You  have  .  .  .  I — er — I  think 
that  by  some  accident,  a  gentleman  got 
locked  in  last  night — when  the  place  was 
261 


THE  WHIP 


closed:  into  the  Chamber  of  Horrors. — 
Yes!"  She  listened  a  moment  to  some 
message. 

"Yes,  do,  please,"  she  continued,  after  a 
pause,  "and  when  you've  got  him — ask  him 
to  speak  to  Mrs.  Beamish  on  the  'phone. — 
B— E— A— M— I— S— H!  Thank  youl 
I'll  hold  the  line — No.  Don't  ring  us  off — 
another  three  minutes!" 

"Yes — (Why  do  they  man — or  woman — 
telephone  exchanges  with  congenital 
idiots!)" 

She  turned  again  to  her  letter. 

"Think  he's  been  punished  sufficiently, 
and  though  of  course  he  ought  not  to  have 
got  locked  in — or — to  have  been  there  at  all 
— I  do  hope  you'll  forgive  him  for  my  sake. 
Whatever  am  I  writing! — for  my  sake  in- 
deed! For  Myrtle  Anson's!  and  it'd  be  no 
more  than  he  deserves  if  I  were  to  tell  Bev- 
erley  all  about  it — but  I  won't — I'll  hold  it 
over  him!" 

262 


MRS.  BEAMISH  RELENTS 

She  was  still  holding  the  receiver  to  her 
ear,  and  in  reply  to  the  operator's  customary 
question  she  said  snappishly: 

"Finished?  Good  heavens,  no!  I  told 
you  another  three  minutes — they're  fetching 
somebody.  No!  I  haven't  finished — what? 
You  cut  me  off  if  you  dare!  Sorry  to  keep 
you  from  your  novel,  but  you'll  have  to 
finish  the  chapter  when  I'm  done — and — 
eh?  On  again?"  and  then  she  recognized 
Lambert's  voice. 

"Ah,  Lambert,"  she  exclaimed,  over  the 
wire,  "they've  got  you  out,  eh?  Tired  of 
being  a  wax  work?" 

But  the  trainer  paid  no  attention  to  the 
jibing  quality  of  her  tones  and  plunged  in- 
to a  recital  of  what  he  had  heard  while  he 
posed  as  Dr.  Crippen. 

"It's  not  true,"  she  exclaimed  over  the 
wire.  "You're  inventing  it  to  get  at  me! 
Tom  Lambert,  will  you  swear  it  is  true?" 

Lord  Beverley  entered  during  her  con- 
263 


THE  WHIP 


eluding  words,  and  she  explained  rapidly  to 
him. 

"What  cock  and  bull  story's  this?"  he  de- 
manded. 

But  after  another  short  talk  with  Lam- 
bert she  continued  to  Beverley: 

"It's  true!  He  says  he  overheard  a  plot 
to  kill  the  Whip.  They  mean  to  uncouple 
the  horse-box  at  Menfield  Junction  just  the 
other  side  of  the  tunnel  and  leave  it  where 
the  down  express'll  run  into  it  and  smash  the 
whole  thing  up." 

Lord  Beverley  now  talked  with  Lambert 
in  his  turn. 

"If  this  story  of  yours  is  true,  whose  plot 
is  it?"  he  asked.  "What!  Captain  Sartoris! 
Greville!  Are  you  mad  or  drunk,  sir,  to 
make  such  an  accusation!  You'll  take  your 
oath  upon  it?  Going  by  the  same  train  as 
the  Whip — prevent  the  horse's  starting  at 
any  cost.  Yes,  I'll  do  that." 

He  snapped  up  the  receiver,  when  they 
264 


MRS.  BEAMISH  RELENTS 

heard  the  whistle  of  the  train  as  it  left  Fal- 
conhurst  station. 

"You  can't  There  goes  the  train," 
lamented  Mrs.  Beamish. 

"Too  late!"  exclaimed  Beverley.  "I 
wouldn't  have  that  horse  hurt  for  three  times 
what  she  stands  to  win.  Good  heavens, 
Betty.  Harry  Anson  and  the  others — we 
must  save  them." 

But  Mrs.  Beamish  was  already  on  her 
agitated  but  rapid  way  to  the  door. 

"And  we  will,"  she  cried.  "It  is  my  do- 
ing! My  stupid  jealousy  has  led  to  it  all. 
It's  my  duty  to  put  things  straight,  and  I'm 
going  to  do  it!" 

"How?"  demanded  the  Marquis. 

"Give  me  the  big  motor  and  a  couple  of 
men,"  she  said,  "and  I'll  race  the  train  and 
get  to  the  tunnel  first." 


265 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  WRECK 

THE  station  employes  at  Falconhurst  station 
had  rather  hurriedly  prepared  the  horse- 
box for  the  reception  of  Lord  Beverley's 
pride,  for  they  were  anxious  to  see  the  car 
attached  to  the  train  which,  having  arrived 
ahead  of  its  time,  was  being  held,  for  they 
knew  that  once  through  the  tunnel  the  down 
express  would  be  only  three  minutes  behind 
them.  They  had  set  the  red  tail-light  and 
arranged  the  slip  cord  which  would  release 
the  coupler  when  it  was  pulled,  and  now 
they  were  waiting  for  the  Whip  to  be  led 
aboard. 

Lady  Diana  and  Harry  Anson  were  stand- 
ing at  the  intelligent  animal's  head  while  the 
girl  said  her  good-bys  to  the  racer  she 
266 


THE  WRECK 


loved  and  upon  whose  successful  perform- 
ance at  Newmarket  depended  so  much. 

"Good-by,"  she  whispered  to  the  horse 
softly,  "you're  to  run  your  first  great  race. 
Win  it.  Win  it!  For  you're  carrying  my 
heart!" 

It  seemed  almost  as  though  the  Whip  un- 
derstood, for  with  her  muzzle  she  caressed 
the  hand  of  the  girl. 

Then  Lady  Diana  turned  to  the  jockey. 

"Good-by,  Harry,"  she  said;  "go  and 
win — for  the  honor  of  the  stable — for  the 
honor  of  our  colors — and — for  me — God 
bless  you  both,  and  good  luck!" 

And  then  she  stood  aside.  Rapidly 
Harry  and  the  porters  led  the  Whip  into  the 
car  which  had  already  been  bedded  down. 
Then  while  Harry  waved  his  hand  and 
Lady  Diana  and  the  others  on  the  plat- 
form responded,  the  train,  which  had 
backed  down,  bore  off  the  car  and  its  own 
load  of  passengers. 

267 


THE  WHIP 


Harry,  who  knew  that  the  succeeding  days 
would  be  of  great  activity,  went  to  bed  in 
his  bunk  in  the  compartment  in  one  end  of 
the  little  odd  English  horse-box,  while  the 
train  attained  a  high  rate  of  speed  and  en- 
tered Falconhurst  tunnel. 

He  promised  himself  that  he  would  keep 
one  eye  on  the  horse,  even  while  the  train 
was  in  motion  and  but  little  danger  was  to 
be  apprehended  from  those  to  whose  inter- 
est it  might  be  to  try  and  harm  the  Whip. 
But  he  soon  dozed. 

They  were  in  the  tunnel  when  Captain 
Sartoris  opened  a  door  of  a  carriage  which 
he  had  quite  to  himself.  He  had  joined 
the  train  further  to  the  north  of  Falconhurst 
and  none  of  the  Falconhurst  people  had 
known  that  he  was  aboard. 

Now  in  the  blackness  of  the  tunnel  he 
crept  along  the  footplate  which  ran  just 
below  the  side  doors  and  which  in  the  past 
had  given  opportunity  for  many  a  crime. 
268 


THE  WRECK 


While  the  passengers  were  absolutely  un- 
conscious of  his  lurching  progress  past  them 
he  crept  along  the  train,  clinging  and  sway- 
ing. In  this  fashion  he  passed  by  the  door 
of  a  compartment  in  which  the  morose  Ver- 
ner  Haslam  was  thinking  of  him  at  that  very 
moment  and  lamenting  to  himself  weakly 
that  he  had  been  drawn  into  a  path  whose 
issue  he  could  not  see. 

Perhaps  the  presence  of  the  man,  who 
had  become  in  a  sense  his  master,  was  real- 
ized subconsciously  by  the  clergyman,  for 
at  the  moment  that  Sartoris  passed  by  his 
compartment  the  shoulders  of  the  substitute 
vicar  were  drawn  up  into  a  shrug  and  shud- 
der. But  to  his  conscious  mind  there  came 
no  warning. 

Sartoris,  while  not  a  crack,  was  never- 
theless something  of  an  athlete,  and  the 
passage  on  the  footplate  gave  him  no  par- 
ticular concern,  once  he  had  accustomed 
himself  to  the  swaying  and  the  exact 
269 


THE  WHIP 


counterpoise  it  was  necessary  to  impart  to 
his  own  body. 

Now  he  stood  at  the  very  end  of  the  foot- 
plate which  was  on  the  carriage  next  the 
horse-box.  Soon  he  had  passed  to  the  end 
of  the  horse-box.  Quickly  he  raised  the 
tail-light  and  swung  it  in  a  circle  for  a  few 
seconds. 

He  wished  to  hurl  it  in  such  a  way  that 
the  flame  would  surely  be  extinguished,  as 
he  wanted  no  warning  to  be  given  to  the 
train  behind  which  was  to  complete  his 
project. 

He  realized  that  if  he  merely  dropped  the 
lantern  to  the  line,  there  was  a  bare  possi- 
bility that  it  would  continue  to  burn. 

His  semi-circular  swings  were  justified  a 
moment  later,  when  he  flung  the  lamp  to  the 
ground,  for  there  was  a  sudden  impact,  and 
then  no  light  showed. 

With  one  foot  resting  upon  the  carriage 
and  one  upon  the  horse-box,  he  pulled  the 
270 


THE  WRECK 


slip  cord  and  had  the  instant  pleasure  of 
seeing  the  horse-box  and  its  freight  drop  be- 
hind. 

The  Whip  would  not  run.  The  race 
would  be  lost.  He  would  be  saved  from 
Kelly's  clutches.  Brancaster  would  be  im- 
poverished and  the  marriage  of  Lady  Diana 
and  Brancaster  put  far  off. 

Quietly  he  slipped  along  the  footplate 
and  regained  his  own  carriage  and  compart- 
ment without  his  absence  having  been  noted. 

With  a  speed  that  gradually  fell  away  the 
horse-box,  with  the  Whip  inside  and 
Harry  fast  asleep,  rumbled  through  the  tun- 
nel and  came  to  a  stop  on  the  main  line, 
directly  in  the  path  of  the  first  train  which 
should  come  along,  near  Menfield  Junction. 

The  whistle  and  the  sounds  of  the  rapid 
approach  through  the  tunnel  of  the  down 
express  came  very  plainly  through  the  dark- 
ness, just  as  a  motor  containing  two  men  and 
Mrs.  Beamish  dashed  around  a  bend  in  the 
271 


THE  WHIP 


road  and  came  to  a  palpitating,  panting  stop 
near  the  horse-box,  and  at  one  side  of  the 
line. 

Mrs.  Beamish  and  her  two  escorts  from 
the  establishment  below  stairs  at  Falcon- 
hurst  darted  across  the  line  and  pounded 
upon  the  door  of  the  horse-box  as  the  train 
in  the  tunnel  moved  nearer  and  nearer. 

Finally  Harry  put  his  head  out  of  the 
window  and  the  frenzied  voice  of  Mrs. 
Beamish  came  to  him: 

"Quick,  Harry,  the  down  express's  on  you. 
You're  cut  off  and  the  Whip  and  you'll  be 
killed!"  she  shouted  above  the  roar  of  the  on- 
coming train. 

Harry  cast  one  glance  behind  him,  saw 
the  rushing  express  and  then  threw  down 
the  sidedoor  of  the  horse-box. 

The  Whip  was  led  across  the  line  and  to 

safety  under  the  very  glare  of  the  headlight 

of  the  express.     Not  a  second  after  this  the 

engine  of  the  onrushing  train  plowed  into 

272 


THE  WRECK 


the  car  just  left  by  Harry  and  the  Whip  and 
was  derailed,  while  the  engine  driver  fell 
badly  hurt  to  the  ground. 

The  light  impediment  of  the  horse-box 
served  to  derail  several  of  the  carriages  be- 
hind which  had  been  traveling  at  high 
speed,  and  a  number  of  passengers  were 
hurled  out,  or  thrown  violently  against  par- 
titions and  other  immovable  objects  within 
the  train. 

Amid  escaping  steam  and  a  fire,  which 
had  started  among  the  wreckage,  the  work 
of  succor  was  begun. 

Among  those  who  labored  none  worked 
with  greater  courage  than  the  Rev.  Verner 
Haslam.  His  train  had  been  stopped  after 
the  crash,  and  had  backed  down  to  render 
aid.  It  was  he  who  crawled  among  the 
splintered,  burning  mass  on  the  line  to  bring 
out  many  of  the  children  who  had  been  in 
the  express. 


273 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AT  NEWMARKET 

ON  the  day  after  the  wreck  and  the  day  be- 
fore the  great  race  the  Whip  made  her 
triumphal  entry  into  Newmarket.  The 
march  toward  what  all  in  the  Beverley  sta- 
bles felt  to  be  victory  ended  for  the  day 
when  the  racer  was  escorted  by  touts,  racing 
men,  tipsters  and  youngsters  into  the  yard  of 
the  Rutland  Arms  Hotel,  with  several 
policemen  to  keep  the  crowd  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance from  the  pride  of  Beverley. 

Lady  Diana  and  Mrs.  Beamish  had  ar- 
rived at  Newmarket  in  a  motor-car  and 
were  already  at  the  inn  when  the  mare  was 
led  into  the  yard,  accompanied  by  Lam- 
bert and  Harry  Anson,  as  well  as  a  small 
army  of  attendants.  As  soon  as  the  Whip 
274 


AT  NEWMARKET 


was  halted  inside  the  ivy-covered  enclosure, 
Lady  Diana  could  not  resist  welcoming  the 
beautiful  mare  with  an  enthusiastic  kiss  on 
her  soft  nose. 

"You  darling!"  the  girl  cried.  "And 
looking  more  beautiful  than  ever — isn't  she, 
Betty?  I  hope  she's  none  the  worse  for  her 
fright  last  night,  Tom?" 

"Lord!  no,  my  Lady!  Playful  as  a  lamb 
she  is,  biting  and  lashing  out  at  everybody 
as  comes  within  a  mile  of  her,"  answered 
Lambert,  with  pardonable  pride. 

Mrs.  Beamish,  too,  patted  the  Whip's 
neck. 

"Pretty  dear!  let's  hope  she'll  give  a  good 
account  of  them  as  tried  to  do  for  her,  when 
I  come  across  'em,"  Tom  told  her,  and  the 
honest  fellow  rested  a  loving  hand  on  the 
mare's  back. 

"There — take  her  to  her  box,  Tom," 
Lady  Diana  directed,  "the  old  Beverley 
box  that  has  seen  so  many  a  winner  go  forth 
275 


THE  WHIP 


from  it  to  carry  the  Beverley  colors  first 
past  the  post."  Her  eyes  sparkled  as  she 
saw  again  the  throngs  of  eager  people  madly 
cheering  her  grandfather's  victories. 

"And  it'll  see  another  to-morrow,  my 
lady — for  it's  never  sheltered  a  better  horse 
than  the  Whip — no,  not  though  the  stable 
door's  that  thick  with  our  plates  as  you  can 
scarcely  see  the  wood  between  'em!"  The 
trainer  spoke  with  the  assurance  of  one  who 
knew.  He  had  not  spent  almost  thirty 
years  with  the  Beverley  horses  without  be- 
ing confident  by  this  time  of  his  own  judg- 
ment. 

"But  there's  room  for  one  more  plate, 
Lambert,"  Mrs.  Beamish  said  with  notice- 
able cordiality,  "and  we'll  nail  it  there  to- 
morrow, won't  we,  Di?"  she  appealed. 

"That  we  will!"  Lady  Diana  rejoined. 

"Ever  since  the  Fifth  Harry  gave  it  us,  our 

crest  has  been  'The  Whip,'  our  motto  ' 

276 


AT  NEWMARKET 


way  for  me!' — and  to-morrow  we'll  take  our 
way  to  triumph.  Yes.  'The  Whip's'  the 
sign  that  England  rules  the  sea,  and  'The 
Whip'  shall  be  the  sign  of  victory  for  Bev- 
erley  by  land!" 

There  was  a  cheer  from  all  the  bystanders, 
as  Lady  Diana,  making  a  sign  to  Harry 
Anson  to  follow  with  his  charge,  led  the 
way  to  the  paddock,  leaving  Mrs.  Beam- 
ish and  Lambert  behind  her,  alone  in  the 
courtyard. 

"And  how  may  you  be  feeling,  Mrs.  B — 
mish?"  Tom  inquired,  not  quite  certain  of 
his  reception. 

Mrs.  Beamish  showed  some  signs  of  emo- 
tion. 

"I'll  not  disguise  from  you,  Lambert,  that 
I'm  not  feeling  quite  myself,"  she  answered. 

"Ha!  Feeling  more  like  your  old  self  and 
and  less  like  your  new — eh? — less  like  the 
Hon.  Mrs.  Beamish  and  more  like  Betty 
277 


THE  WHIP 


Dawkins — eh? — more  like  the  jackdaw  and 
less  like  the  peacock's  feathers,  eh?"  Tom 
was  resolved  not  to  be  too  kind. 

"Peacock's  feathers,  indeed!"  she  ex- 
claimed indignantly. 

"Yes  .  .  .  Gold  'andbags  and  watches 
and  lace  'ankerchiefs,  and  such  like."  Here 
he  burst  into  a  loud  guffaw.  "Lor!  that 
young  woman  she  did  take  you  on  proper!" 
he  jeered,  recalling  Mrs.  Beamish's  adven- 
ture in  the  Chamber  of  Horrors. 

"Yes! — and  you  looked  on  and  let  her. 
Tom  Lambert,  I'll  never  forgive  you!" 

"Come,  I  like  that!  Who  had  me  locked 
up  in  the  Chamber  of  Horrors?"  he  re- 
torted. 

"It  was  your  doing!"  Mrs.  Beamish  told 
him,  vindictively.  "When  a  man  associates 
with  murderers,  he  must  expect  to  be  locked 
up.  Why  did  you  hide?" 

Tom  smiled  broadly,  knowing  that  he  had 
the  situation  well  in  hand. 
278 


AT  NEWMARKET 


"Because  you've  got  a  suspicious  mind," 
he  explained. 

"Because  you've  got  a  guilty  one,"  she 
corrected. 

Lambert  saw  that  the  lady  was  a  bit  more 
difficult  than  he  had  believed  and  he 
straightway  lost  his  assurance. 

"Stop  that,  Betty!  It  ain't  a  thing  for 
joking,"  he  said  with  feeling.  And  as  the 
Whip's  jockey  reappeared  in  the  courtyard 
Tom  turned  to  him  and  called,  "Harry,  my 
lad,  come  here,  and  if  you  can,  just  you 
speak  up  what  you've  got  to  say." 

Harry  Anson  approached  Mrs.  Beamish 
with  his  cap  in  his  hand. 

"I — I  want  to  thank  you,  ma'am,  for  what 
you  did  last  night — for  saving  my  life," 
he  said  choking  and  embarrassed.  "Yes, 
ma'am,  it  was  so,"  he  continued,  as  Mrs. 
Beamish  started  to  protest.  "If  it  hadn't 
been  for  you,  my  sister'd  ha'  been  left  alone 
in  the  world — along  in  her  trouble." 
279 


THE  WHIP 


"Trouble — ?"  Mrs.  Beamish  inquired,  not 
understanding. 

Harry's  emotion  almost  got  the  better  of 
him. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  wrong  there  has  been — and 
— shame — but  it  wasn't  from  him  it  come" 
— and  the  boy  pointed  to  Lambert — "but 
from  the  same  hand  as  tried  to  wreck  the 
Whip  last  night." 

"From  Captain  Sartoris!"  Mrs.  Beamish 
cried,  a  great  light  breaking  over  her  at 
last. 

"Yes,  that's  him!  .  .  .  Him  as  wanted 
me  to  pull  that  mare — him  as  would  have 
ruined  me — as  he'd  ruined  her — my  sister!" 
The  poor  boy  nearly  broke  down  as  he  told 
his  great  trouble. 

The  good  woman  put  her  hand  tenderly 
on  Harry's  shoulder,  and  in  a  most  motherly 
way  she  comforted  him  as  best  she  could. 

"My  boy,  my  boy—  "  she  said,  "I'm  sorry, 
very  sorry — if  there  is  anything  I  can  do — 
280 


AT  NEWMARKET 


if — presently — Myrtle  can  have  a  new  start 
in  a  new  land — " 

"Oh,  ma'am!— if  it  only  could  be!"  the 
lad  cried  impetuously,  hope  springing  anew 
within  him. 

"It  shall  be,"  she  assured  him.  "I  know 
I  can  promise  as  much  as  that  for  Lord  Bev- 
erley." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,  from  my  heart  and 
hers."  And  Harry's  eyes  filled  in  his  com- 
plete thankfulness. 

"There,  there,  that'll  do,  my  lad!  You 
go  and  look  after  your  'oss,"  Lambert  said, 
with  clumsy  kindness. 

As  Harry  hurried  away  the  trainer  turned 
his  shining  face  to  Mrs.  Beamish. 

"And  now,  Betty — what  have  you  got  to 
say?"  he  asked. 

"Sorry,  Tom,  with  all  my  heart.  I  take  it 
back." 

"Now  you  see  what  comes  along  o'  sus- 
picion and  jealousy,"  he  chided  her. 
281 


THE  WHIP 


"Well,  you  needn't  triumph  over  me,"  she 
protested. 

"I'm  not  a-triumphing  over  you,  Betty — 
only  a-telling  of  you  for  your  good,  that 
there  train  accident  all  lies  at  your  door!" 

"My  door!" 

"And  the  door  of  the  Chamber  of 
Horrors,  what  you  left  locked  on  me  for 
four-and-twenty  hours.  If  you  had  not  been 
jealous  and  followed  me  to  Tussaud's— 

"You  wouldn't  have  hidden  among  the 
murderers  and  we  should  never  have  known 
of  the  plot  at  all,"  she  interrupted. 

"Well,  I  never!"  Lambert  was  surprised 
into  exclaiming.  Mrs.  Beamish's  nimble 
wits  were  too  much  for  him. 

"No,  you  never — would!"  she  hastened  to 
follow  up  her  advantage.  "And  the  Whip 
with  Harry  and  the  lad — would  have  been 
smashed  up,  as  well  as  the  others." 

"Trust  a  woman  to  turn  a  story  round  her 
282 


AT  NEWMARKET 


own  way — and — "  Tom  fumed  and  sput- 
tered. 

"Look!"  she  suddenly  said,  pointing  to 
the  patch  of  street  visible  through  the  en- 
trance. 

"Captain  Sartoris!"  Lambert  exclaimed. 

"Yes.  Now  if  you  want  someone  to  talk 
to — and  tell  off — talk  to  him! — and  when 
you've  done  that,  you  can  come  and  talk  to 
me — you'll  find  me,"  she  ordered,  conscious 
of  her  woman's  mastery. 

"Where?"  asked  Tom. 

"Where  you  ought  to  be — and  never  are 
— with  your  horse!"  And  there  was  a 
wicked  gleam  of  triumph  in  Mrs.  Beam- 
ish's  eye. 


283 


CHAPTER  XX 

MRS.  D'AQUILA'S  INSPIRATION 

"AH,  Lambert,  the  Whip  arrived?"  Sar- 
toris's  manner  was  assured  and  easy. 

Lambert  looked  him  directly  in  the  eye. 

"Yes,  she  has,"  he  sputtered,  "and  she's 
going  to  arrive  to-morrow,  too,  you  infernal 
scoundrel!  Don't  talk  to  me — don't  you 
dare  to  show  your  ugly  nose  near  my  horse 
— or  I'll  pull  it  for  you." 

The  Captain's  smile  was  contemptuous. 

"My  good  idiot — you  are  very  drunk," 
he  said. 

"No,  I'm  not,"  disclaimed  the  trainer. 

"Then  what  the  deuce  do  you  mean  by — " 

"I  mean,"  said  Lambert,  sternly,  "that  I 
was  at  Madame  'Toosoo's'  on  Saturday 
night,  Captain  Sartoris,  close  to  your  el- 
284 


MRS.  D'AQUILA'S  INSPIRATION 

bow,    at   your   back,    and    I    heard    every; 
blooming  word  you  said." 

Mrs.  D'Aquila  had  followed  Sartoris  in- 
to the  yard  and  she  heard  Lambert's  last 
words. 

"Dear  me,  who  is  this  creature?"  she 
'drawled,  surveying  the  horseman  through 
her  glasses. 

"You'll  jolly  soon  know  to-morrow,"  the 
outraged  and  angry  trainer  said,  "when 
you're  both  in  the  dock,  madam,  and  you 
hear  what  I've  sworn — that  you  wanted  it 
so  badly — that  you  had  the  pluck — but  there 
wasn't  an  accident — " 

And  Lambert,  who  knew  that  if  he  re- 
mained longer  in  the  yard  he  couldn't  keep 
from  thrashing  Sartoris,  left  abruptly. 

The  Captain  was  slightly  taken  aback. 

"Did    you    hear    that?"    he    asked    the 
woman.      "Your   own   words.     The   beast 
must  have  been  there  really — hidden — we 
never  saw  him  and  he  heard  everything." 
285 


THE  WHIP 


"What  does  it  matter?"  returned  the 
steadier  nerved  woman.  "He's  no  wit- 
ness. And  it's  one  oath  against  two.  1 
shall  swear  that  I  was  never  there  in  mj 
life." 

"Is  it  worth  the  trouble?" 

"My  dear  Greville— " 

"You've  forgotten  the  accident." 

"I've  not.  I  always  thought  it  possible," 
she  said. 

"I  didn't,"  he  returned  sharply.  "I 
thought  that  when  the  horse-box  stopped 
on  the  line,  the  lad,  the  trainer,  whoever  it 
was — could  get  out — go  for  help — at  any 
rate  jump  out  when  they  heard  the  next  train 
coming.  I  never  thought  of  a  dozen  poor 
devils — torn  and  cut  and  thrown  about — 
smashed  1" 

"All  third-class  passengers,"  the  woman 
answered  with  a  shrug.  "Dreadful  things 
are  always  happening  to  people  of  that 


sort." 


286 


MRS.  D'AQUILA'S  INSPIRATION 

"Quite  so,"  returned  Sartoris,  "but  you 
mustn't  kill  'em  for  all  that.  I  only  thought 
I  was  going  to  do  for  the  horse.  What's 
the  punishment  for  manslaughter?" 

Mrs.  D'Aquila  laughed  outright. 

"Fiddlesticks,"  she  commented.  "They 
can't  prove  anything.  Where's  your  mo- 
tive?" 

"I'll  tell  you,"  he  said.  "The  truth  will 
come  out  if  any  of  these  people  die.  It  was 
my  work.  I  tried  to  kill  my  cousin's  horse. 
Kelly,  the  bookmaker,  has  laid  thousands 
against  it.  In  Kelly's  pocket  is  a  bill  of 
mine — with  Di's  name  upon  it.  She  did 
not  put  it  there.  If  the  Whip  does  not  win 
that  bill  comes  back  to  me.  There's  my 
motive.  If  the  Whip  wins  he'll  give  the 
bill  to  Di." 

For  the  moment  she  abandoned  her  de- 
fense of  him  to  him. 

"And  if  you  have  any  sense,"  she  said, 


287 


THE  WHIP 


"you'll  be  in  Paris  to-night — clear  away  by 
to-morrow — " 

"That  won't  prevent  the  horse  from  win- 
ning," he  said,  "won't  stop  Kelly.  The 
minute  Beverley  sees  that  bill  the  chain's 
complete.  I  shall  stand  proved  a  criminal 
— a  train  wrecker — nearly  a  murderer.  I 
shan't  hesitate." 

"Don't  be  absurd,"  she  advised. 

"I'm  not,"  he  answered  sullenly.  "Do 
you  think  I'd  pass  the  rest  of  my  life  broke? 
Begging — hunted — no,  thanks.  I've  had 
my  time — not  half  a  bad  time.  It  must  end 
some  day,  and  I  shan't  hesitate." 

Sartoris  had  drawn  a  revolver  and  was 
looking  at  it. 

"What's  that?"  she  asked. 

"That,"  he  smiled  bitterly.  "That's 
Harry  Anson's  revolver.  He  left  it  in  my 
rooms.  Poetic  justice  if  I  used  it.  I'm 
afraid,  Nora,  the  chain's  too  strong. 
There's  no  way  out." 

288 


MRS.  D'AQUILA'S  INSPIRATION 

She  looked  at  the  weapon  in  his  hand  and 
then  at  him  quickly. 

"Yes,  there  is,"  she  exclaimed  suddenly, 
"and  almost  a  certainty.  That  thing  made 
me  think  of  it.  You  told  me  Harry  Anson 
came  to  your  chambers  and  threatened  you. 
If  I  were  you  I  should  go  in  fear  of  my  life." 

"I!" 

"And  I  should  swear  it — forcibly,"  she 
went  on,  "before  the  nearest  magistrate  in 
London,  and  come  down  to-morrow  with 
detectives  and  arrest  him  on  the  course,  just 
before  the  race." 

"They'd  get  another  jockey." 

"To  ride  the  Whip?  You  know  that's 
impossible!" 

Sartoris  took  a  deep  breath  of  relief. 

"That's  true!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Very  well,"  she  said  enthusiastically. 
"No  race  is  over  until  it's  lost.  Here  is 
your  chance.  Almost  a  certainty.  Take  it 
and  win!" 

289 


THE  WHIP 


"By  Heaven,  I  will,"  he  said  fervently. 

"Then  put  that  thing  away,"  she  said,  in- 
dicating the  revolver.  "Don't  lose  a  minute! 
I'll  walk  with  you  to  the  station.  Go  up  to 
town  at  once  and  do  your  work.  We'll  see 
'Brancaster  broken  and  beaten  yet." 


290 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  TRUTH  AT  LAST 

As  Sartoris  and  Mrs.  D'Aquila  strolled  off 
together  toward  the  station,  Mrs.  Beamish 
and  Tom  Lambert  watched  them  from  the 
yard  of  the  inn,  which  they  had  entered 
soon  after  the  others  left  it. 

"There  they  go.  A  pretty  pair  of  beau- 
ties. They  ought  to  marry  each  other," 
said  poor  Tom,  who  had  marrying  on  the 
brain  whenever  he  found  himself  alone  with 
his  Betty. 

"If  you'd  seen  them  stand  there,  as  bold 
as  brass,"  he  went  on,  "and  swear  me  out — 
as  if  I'd  dreamed  everything  I  heard  them 
say." 

"Quite  sure  you  didn't,  Tom?"  she  asked 
tartly. 

"Just  as  sure  as  I  am  that  I  didn't  dream 
291 


THE  WHIP 


that  I  saw  that  young  woman  filch  from  you 
everything  you  had  with  you,"  he  said. 

Then  his  mind  wandered  into  another 
channel  as  he  thought  of  a  day  years  ago. 

"Remember,  Betty,"  he  said,  "what  a  day 
we  had  haymaking  in  Farmer  Marsh's 
meadow?  You  wore  a  little  lilac  sunbon- 
net  and  looked  a  daisy,  and  no  sweeter  daisy 
doesn't  blow — " 

"Oh,  Tom,"  she  said,  trying  to  stop 
him. 

"Remember,  Betty,"  he  continued,  "after 
supper  you  and  me  went  for  a  walk  along 
Miller's  lane.  Wasn't  the  honeysuckle 
sweet,  Betty?" 

Old  memories  were  stirring  in  her,  too. 

"It  was,  Tom,"  she  said.  "Ah !  there's  no 
place  like  a  hedge  for  honeysuckle." 

"Remember,  Betty,  you  wanted  a  bunch 
and  I  climbed  up  to  get  it  for  you?" 

She  sighed. 

"And  tore  your  hands  with  a  great  bram- 


THE  TRUTH  AT  LAST 

ble — your  little  hand — and  I  tied  it  up  for 
you  with  my  handkerchief." 

"And  while  you  were  doing  it  I — " 

He  finished  his  sentence  with  an  expres- 
sive pantomime  of  kissing. 

"Don't,  Tom,"  she  begged,  as  old  mem- 
ories seemed  about  to  make  her  give  to  Tom 
his  long  deferred  "Yes." 

"I  can't  help  it,  Betty,"  he  said. 

Now  once  more  Betty  called  upon  the 
volume  which  had  prevented  her  many 
times  from  forgetting  that  she  belonged — by 
marriage — to  the  almost  princely  house  of 
Beverley,  and  so  could  not  marry  one  be- 
neath her  in  station. 

"Save  me,  Burke,"  she  said.  "Beverley, 
Geoffrey,  Vandeleur,  Delacroix,  George, 
Jocelyn,'  " —  She  was  repeating  the  titles 
and  names  of  the  Marquis  of  Beverley  as 
they  appeared  in  "Burke's  Peerage,"  that 
she  might  conquer  her  passion  for  Tom 
Lambert. 

293 


THE  WHIP 


"I'm  going,"  she  lamented,  and  then  con- 
tinued to  quote :  "  'Tenth  Marquis  of — K. 
G.,  K.  C.  B.;K.  C,  S.  I.— "' 

But  Lambert  overcame  the  last  obstacle 
in  his  path  of  love,  seized  her,  drew  her  to 
him,  and  kissed  her,  just  as  he  should  have 
done  long  ago.  And  to  his  wonder  she  re- 
turned his  caress. 

"Oh!  Tom — I  mean  Mr.  Lambert — what 
have  you  done?"  she  cried. 

Then  both  of  them  became  aware  of  the 
presence  in  the  yard  of  Lady  Diana.  The 
girl  was  laughing  at  them. 

"I've  compromised  you  in  public  and 
now  you'll  have  to  marry  me,"  said  Lam- 
bert with  a  laugh. 

"Do  you  know,  Betty,  I  really  think  you 
will,"  put  in  Lady  Diana  as  Lambert  and 
Mrs.  Beamish  retreated  into  another  corner 
of  the  yard. 

But  Lady  Diana  had  scant  time  to  give 
294 


THE  TRUTH  AT  LAST 

to  their  affairs,  for  a  moment  later  Lord 
Brancaster  appeared. 

He  had  received  a  letter  from  the  girl 
telling  him  how  the  Rev.  V«rner  Haslam 
had  been  taken  to  Falconhurst  after  the 
wreck,  and  how  unnerved  he  had  seemed. 
He  had  really  appeared  on  the  point  of  tell- 
ing something  to  Lady  Diana,  but  the  next 
morning  had  left  Falconhurst  without  a 
word. 

Lady  Diana  had  added  in  the  letter  that 
Lord  Beverley  had  applied  for  warrants  for 
Sartoris  and  Mrs.  D'Aquila  on  the  strength 
of  an  affidavit  made  by  Tom  Lambert. 

Brancaster  had  rushed  to  Newmarket  the 
moment  he  received  the  letter. 

The  young  people  were  commiserating 
with  each  other  on  the  flight  of  Haslam, 
when  that  individual  entered  the  stable 
yard.  He  was  pale  and  agitated  and  even 
trembling  as  he  approached. 
295 


THE  WHIP 


"Ah,  Mr.  Haslam,"  said  Lady  Diana,  "I 
was  just  talking  of  you.  Why  did  you  run 
away  from  us  so  suddenly  at  Falconhurst?" 

"I  was  afraid — "  began  Haslam,  and 
then  stopped. 

"Of  what?"  she  asked  gently. 

"What  I  had  done,"  he  said. 

"You  should  have  been  proud.  It  was 
splendid  work.  You  saved  all  those  chil- 
dren. You  crawled  into  the  wreckage 
when  others  feared  to  do  so." 

"And  can't  save  myself — my  soul — my 
life,"  he  said  in  a  seeming  agony. 

"Come — come — where  is  the  danger?" 
asked  the  young  girl. 

A  terror  almost  such  as  might  come  to  one 
demented — at  imaginary  perils — crossed  the 
pallid  face  of  the  man  in  clerical  garb. 

"Sartoris — Greville  Sartoris,"  he  said, 
"the  devil — loose — at  my  throat  next — save 
me—" 

296 


THE  TRUTH  AT  LAST 

"Mr.  Haslam,  you  are  in  no  danger  here," 
Brancaster  said,  reassuringly. 

"Why  not?  Does  he  stop  at  anything?" 
went  on  the  frightened  clergyman. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  the 
young  Earl,  now  determined  that  the  scene 
should  end  or  that  the  cleric  should  explain 
himself. 

"That  I  am  a  coward,"  said  Haslam. 
"Fear  sealed  my  lips.  Fear  opens  them." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  astonishment 
from  Brancaster  and  Lady  Diana,  and  then 
the  pale  clergyman  hurried  on: 

"That  was  his  work — wasn't  it?  You 
told  me — the  accident?" 

Tom  Lambert  had  left  Betty's  side  and 
was  now  openly  listening  to  Haslam. 

"I  know  it  was  his  work,  sir,"  interrupted 
Lambert.  "I  heard  it  planned  between  him 
and  Mrs.  D'Aquila." 

The  vicar  was  looking  straight  before 
297 


THE  WHIP 


him.     In  the  vacancy  he  seemed  to  see  hor- 
rible sights,  hear  terrifying  sounds. 

"Murder  1"  he  muttered.  "A  dozen  lives 
— a  hundred — what  did  he  care?  He 
would  have  taken  them  to  gain  his  end. 
Would  he  stop  at  mine?" 

"Why  should  he  want — ?"  Brancaster  be- 
gan. 

"My  silence  forever!  The  silence  of  the 
grave,"  said  the  clergyman  almost  beside 
himself  in  his  cowardly  passion.  "Because 
I  helped  his  villainy — he  drove  me  to  it  by 
fear.  Then  held  me  dumb — by  fear.  Now 
I  have  seen  his  work,  his  plan — complete — 
reckless — remorseless — the  crash — the  torn 
bodies  on  the  line — I've  seen  the  fire- 
heard  the  children  scream — what  is  my  life 
to  him?  Save  me  I  Save  me,  if  you  will. 
Put  prison  walls  between  us.  There  I  can- 
atone — repent." 

"Of  what?"  asked  the  young  Earl,  going 
298 


THE  TRUTH  AT  LAST 

closer  to  Haslam  and  looking  at  him  pecul- 
iarly. 

Haslam  raised  his  head,  looked  directly 
at  the  questioner,  and  then  at  Lady  Diana. 

"The  lie  that  wrecked  your  lives,"  he 
said. 

After  a  pause  he  went  on: 

"There  was  a  marriage.     That  is  true.'* 

"Between  me  and  Mrs.  D'Aquila?"  de- 
manded Brancaster. 

"Between  the  woman — and  one  who  took 
your  place,"  confessed  the  weakling. 

"Who  was  it?"  came  from  Brancaster. 

"Sartoris,"  said  Haslam. 

"I  did  the  rest,"  he  added  in  a  trembling, 
low  voice,  "wrote  it  in  the  book — lies! 
Swore  to  it,  after — lies !  Fear  drove  me  as 
it  drives  me  now!  Rank  fear,  fear  for  my 
body — greater  for  my  soul — pity — I  confess 
— forgive  and  save  me." 

"Mr.  Haslam,"  said  the  generous  hearted 
299 


THE  WHIP 

Lady  Diana,  "you  shall  be  safe  with  us. 
Stay  with  us  until  the  truth  is  clear  and 
proved." 

And  in  his  agony  of  soul,  the  Rev.  Ver- 
ner  Haslam  joined  the  hands  of  Lady  Diana 
and  Brancaster,  and  held  them  both  in  his. 


300 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  WHIP  WINS 

IT  was  only  a  few  moments  before  the  great 
Two  Thousand  Guinea  Race. 

In  the  paddock  the  f  rierids  of  Falconhurst 
were  listening  to  the  self-congratulations  of 
Lord  Beverley  that  in  spite  of  all  that  had 
been  done  to  prevent  the  Whip's  starting, 
everything  was  now  in  readiness. 

Harry  Anson  had  been  weighed  in  and 
the  Whip  herself  was  pawing  the  turf  wait- 
ing for  the  race  to  be  called  and  for  Harry 
to  spring  into  the  saddle. 

In  anticipation  of  the  effect  the  confes- 
sion of  Haslam  would  have  upon  the  Mar- 
quis of  Beverley,  Lady  Diana  and  the  Earl 
of  Brancaster  were  openly  strolling  together 
about  the  paddock,  confident  and  hopeful 
301 


THE  WHIP 


too  that  the  big  race  would  give  Brancaster 
a  war  fund  against  his  enemies. 

In  the  press  in  the  paddock  Captain  Sar- 
toris,  followed  at  a  little  distance  by  two 
alert-featured  but  unfashionably  garbed 
men,  met  Mrs.  D'Aquila. 

Their  greetings  were  cordial  and  happy, 

"It's  all  right,"  Sartoris  told  the  woman, 
joyously.  "You're  a  clever  woman,  Nora. 
The  magistrate  was  a  dear  old  person — most 
obliging — issued  a  warrant  at  once — said  he 
would  lock  him  up,  too,  if  he  could  not  find 
good  bail — of  course  he  will,  and  then  re- 
lease him  to-morrow." 

"I  don't  particularly  care  if  they  bail  him 
to-morrow,  as  long  as  you  take  him  to-day," 
she  said. 

"That's  sure  enough,"  answered  the  Cap- 
tain confidently.  "The  detective-inspector 
and  another  chap  came  down  with  me. 
Luckily  they  don't  know  Anson  by  sight,  so 
302 


THE  WHIP  WINS 


I  have  come  to  look  for  him,  and  I  shall 
find  him  at  exactly  the  right  moment." 

Kelly,  the  "King  of  the  Ring,"  came  up 
to  Sartoris  at  this  moment  and  with  him 
stepped  aside. 

"Anything  to  tell  me?"  he  asked  in  a  low 
tone. 

"Only  that  you  can  give  me  the  bill  if  you 
like,"  the  other  responded. 

Kelly  appeared  pleased. 

"You've  done  your  best  to  earn  it,"  he 
said,  "but  the  job  isn't  finished,  you  know." 

"It  will  be  very  soon,"  put  in  the  Cap- 
tain quickly.  "I  told  you  what  I  meant  to 
do — the  men  are  here." 

"Then  hurry  up,  my  lad,"  the  bookmaker 
told  him.  "They  will  be  mounted  in  a 
minute.  Time's  short  and  remember,  if 
the  Whip  loses,  the  bill  and  the  money's 
yours,  but  if  the  Whip  wins  it  goes  to  Lady 
Di.  You  know  what's  at  stake  on  the  race." 
303 


THE  WHIP 


The  loud  call  of  the  clerk  of  the  course 
for  the  entrants  to  take  their  places  sounded 
throughout  the  paddock. 

Harry  Anson  and  Tom  Lambert  ap- 
peared leading  the  Whip. 

"We've  just  saddled,  my  Lady,"  Lam- 
bert said  to  Lord  Beverley's  granddaughter. 
"There  goes  the  bell!  Anything  to  tell 
Harry?" 

Lady  Diana  caressed  the  Whip  while  she 
answered : 

"Only  this — everything  that  wickedness 
could  do  has  been  done  to  stop  our  horse, 
but  she  is  safe.  Now,  for  the  honor  of  the 
colors,  go  and  ride  your  best." 

With  his  hand  on  the  jockey's  shoulder, 
the  young  Earl  added  to  the  spurring  speech 
of  Lady  Diana: 

"For  you're  carrying  hearts  and  hopes  to- 
day as  well  as  fortunes.  All  England  will 
cheer  you  when  you  win,  Harry,  and  I  shall 
304 


THE  WHIP  WINS 


be  the  first  to  shake  you  by  the  hand.  In  a 
few  minutes  it  will  all  be  over." 

"Yes,  my  lord,  all  over  and — "  began 
Harry. 

But  Sartoris  had  pointed  to  the  jockey  and 
the  two  sharp-faced  men  had  left  the  Cap- 
tain and  were  now  at  Harry's  side. 

"Is  your  name  Harry  Anson?"  de- 
manded the  first  of  these. 

"Yes,"  said  the  jockey,  one  foot  in  the 
stirrup. 

The  man  held  out  to  him  a  revolver. 

"Is  that  your  revolver?  Your  name's 
scratched  on  it,"  he  said. 

"My  revolver?  Yes,"  said  Anson,  won- 
deringly. 

"Found  in  the  rooms  of  Captain  Sartoris 
)» 

"I-  '  Harry  paused,  while  the  detective 
said  brisk.ly — 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  must  arrest  you  on  a 
305 


THE  WHIP 


charge  of  having  threatened  the  life  of  Cap- 
tain Sartoris  at  his  chambers  in  the  Albany 
on  Saturday  night.  Whatever  you  say  may 
be  used  against  you." 

"And  I'll  answer  the  charge,"  retorted 
Harry.  "Let  the  whole  world  know  the 
truth,  after  the  race." 

"No,  you  must  come  now,"  said  the  detec- 
tive. 

"Before  the  race?"  asked  the  agonized 
Harry. 

"At  once,"  he  was  told. 

Lord  Brancaster  moved  closely  up  to  the 
two  detectives. 

"I  am  Lord  Brancaster,"  he  said.  "I  will 
go  bail  for  anything  you  like — only  let  the 
lad  ride.  Hang  it,  officers,  you  are  Eng- 
lishmen !  You  are  sportsmen !  Give  us  fair 
play!  I'll  stake  my  honor  the  lad's  inno- 
cent I'll  stake  my  honor  he  shall  answer 
to  the  charge.  You  don't  know  what  this 
race  means  to  all  of  us.  Let  him  ride." 
306 


THE  WHIP  WINS 


"I'm  very  sorry,  my  lord,"  the  detective 
answered.  "Give  you  my  word,  my  lord, 
I'd  like  to,  but  I  can't.  We  must  do  our 
duty." 

And  over  the  protests  of  Brancaster,  Lord 
Beverley  and  Lord  Clanmore  of  the  Jockey 
Club,  the  detectives  put  heavy  hands  upon 
the  shoulders  of  Anson. 

Clanmore,  who  had  an  official  position  at 
the  track  in  addition  to  being  a  steward, 
tried  to  step  into  the  breach. 

"But,  hang  it,  Beverley,"  he  said,  "we 
won't  stand  by  and  see  it  done.  I'm 
here — Denham's  here — we're  stewards,  and 
if  there  is  another  lad  about  who  can  ride 
the  weight  give  him  the  colors.  We  will 
waive  the  weighing  out.  He  shall  mount 
at  once." 

The  parties  to  the  controversy  were  now 

surrounded  by   an   eager,   excited   crowd, 

many  of  whose  members  had  bet  heavily  on 

the  Whip  and  were  interested  for  that  and 

30? 


THE  WHIP 


other  reasons  of  pure  sportsmanship  to  see 
the  pride  of  the  Beverley  stables  start. 

Lady  Diana  pressed  herself  forward. 

"Anyone  we  name,  Lord  Clanmore?" 
she  asked. 

"Anyone,  Lady  Di,"  he  responded,  gal- 
lantly. "Rules  be  hanged  at  a  time  like 
this !  The  Jockey  Club  does  what  it  likes." 

At  this  staunch  speech  the  crowd  cheered. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Lady  Diana,  her 
little  fists  clenched.  "Please  remember 
only  two  people  can  manage  our  horse. 
With  a  strange  lad  she's  no  use.  You 
want  to  see  fair  play — to  see  the  public, 
who  have  backed  us,  have  an  honest  run  for 
their  money.  There's  only  one  way.  You 
promise  whoever  I  name  you'll  let  ride?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Clanmore  and  Denham, 
the  two  stewards. 

"I  name — myself,"  she  exclaimed. 

Denham  and  Clanmore  both  protested 
308 


THE  WHIP  WINS 


that  it  was  impossible,  that  it  was  unsafe, 
that  it  had  never  been  done. 

"A  girl  has  never  ridden  a  race,"  ended 
Clanmore. 

"Then  let  her  now,"  the  girl  persisted. 

In  their  chivalric  mood  Clanmore  and 
Denham  might  have  consented  to  anything, 
but  Kelly  put  a  stop  to  this  emotional  turn  of 
affairs  and  recalled  to  both  Brancaster  and 
Lady  Diana  the  solid  basis  on  which  they 
had  hoped  to  set  their  fortunes. 

"And  if  she  does  ride,"  he  shouted,  "the 
ring  won't  pay.  It  isn't  racing." 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  though  this 
ultimatum  of  the  ring  had  indeed  ended  the 
whole  matter,  but  Brancaster  turned  to  the 
crowd  of  racing  enthusiasts. 

"Then  I  will  tell  you  what  is  racing,"  he 

shouted  in  his  turn.    "You,  all  of  you  who 

have  backed  the  horse — I  will  tell  you  what 

is  racing — what  is  honesty — what  is  sport, 

309 


THE  WHIP 


fair  play.  Will  you  stand  by  and  see  your- 
selves robbed?" 

The  crowd  was  catching  fire  at  his  in- 
vective. There  were  cries  of  "No,  no,  no!" 

"I  have  given  my  honor,"  he  went  on  still 
in  his  strong  voice,  "that  the  police  shall 
take  the  lad  the  minute  he's  past  the  post, 
but  they  say  'No.'  What  do  you  say? 
There's  your  jockey  and  there's  your  horse. 
Let  the  lad  go.  Will  you  lose  your  money, 
or  will  you  follow  me?" 

And  the  young  Earl  hurled  himself  upon 
the  nearer  of  the  two  detectives.  He  had 
nearly  freed  Anson  when  the  mob  realized 
what  he  was  doing.  In  an  instant  they  were 
about  the  two  detectives.  Despite  the  assist- 
ance of  Kelly  given  to  the  representatives 
of  the  law,  they  were  hustled  from  the  pad- 
'dock,  while  the  jockey  was  fairly  hurled 
upon  the  Whip. 

The  moment  he  felt  the  nervous  horse- 
310 


THE  WHIP  WINS 


flesh  between  his  knees  he  was  off  upon  the 
course  almost  automatically. 

At  a  signal  from  Lord  Clanmore,  who 
realized  the  necessity  of  haste,  the  starting 
signal  was  given  and  they  were  off. 

Now  it  seemed  as  though  the  events  of  the 
few  minutes  preceding  the  actual  race  had 
done  their  work  with  Anson.  He  was  alive 
to  his  fingertips  and  never  did  his  work 
better.  The  Whip,  too,  had  profited  by  the 
long  delay.  Her  nerves  had  been  stretched 
to  the  breaking  point,  and  she  found  the 
greatest  relief  in  furious  action  just  as  her 
rider  did. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Harry  pre- 
vented his  mount  from  taking  the  lead  at 
the  first  moment  the  race  began,  but  when 
they  were  in  sight  of  the  post  he  had  passed' 
all  save  the  leader.  Then,  without  using 
spur  or  whip,  he  simply  shook  out  his  reins. 

In  her  wonderful  stride  the  Whip  passed 
3" 


THE  WHIP 


the  leader  and,  half  a  length  ahead  of  her, 
reached  the  post. 

Into  the  paddock  rode  Anson,  the  victor, 
on  the  Whip.  The  jockey's  face  was  white, 
and  he  was  trembling  violently.  The  race 
had  told  far  more  on  him  than  on  the  splen- 
did Whip,  whose  respiration  was  still  even 
and  regular,  though,  of  course,  considerably 
quickened. 

The  center  of  a  cheering  knot,  Lady 
Diana  and  Brancaster  pressed  toward  the 
mare,  their  arms  around  each  other  and 
their  dignity  as  peer  and  marquis's  heir  com- 
pletely gone  for  the  moment.  Somehow  the 
story  of  their  romance  and  of  what  they  had 
at  stake  on  the  race  had  got  about,  and  their 
sympathetic  friends  were  ready  to  weep  or 
laugh  with  them — or  do  both  in  turn. 

The  two  detectives  met  Lord  Beverley 
near  the  Whip.  The  one  in  authority  had 
an  open  telegram  in  his  hand.  His  whole 
312 


THE  WHIP  WINS 


demeanor  showed  that  there  was  now  no  in- 
tention upon  his  part  of  arresting  the  jockey. 

"My  lord,"  he  said  very  humbly  to  Bev- 
erley,  "we've  just  had  a  wire  from  Scotland 
Yard.  The  warrant  on  your  application 
has  been  issued." 

Beverley  turned  sternly  upon  his  cousin, 
Captain  Sartoris,  and  Mrs.  D'Aquila  where 
they  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  paddock. 

"Then  don't  let  them  slip  away,"  he  said. 
"Arrest  them  at  once." 

The  detectives  seized  Sartoris  and  Mrs. 
D'Aquila  and  moved  out  of  the  paddock. 

Then  unmindful  of  all  the  crowd,  Bran- 
caster  again  put  his  arms  about  Lady  Diana. 

"Now  what's  this?"  demanded  the  Mar- 
quis of  Beverley. 

Lady  Diana  raised  her  blue  eyes  to  her 
grandfather. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,"  she  said, 
beginning  a  quick  recital.  "Once  there  was 
31.3 


THE  WHIP 


a  fine  young  man  who  was  foolishly  called 
by  his  people,  who  didn't  know  him,  the 
Wicked  Earl,  but—" 


THE  END 


ROMANCE 

A  Novel  by  ACTON  DAVIES 

From  Edward  Sheldon's  Play  Fully  Illustrated 


Filled  to  overflowing  with  the  Emotional 
Glamor  of  Love,  "  Romance"  is  the  Ro- 
mance of  a  Famous  Grand  Opera  Singer 
and  a  Young  Clergyman.  Despite  their 
different  callings  they  are  drawn  together 
by  a  profound  and  sincere  love.  But  the 
woman  has  drained  the  cup  of  life  so  deeply 
that  her  marriage  to  the  Minister  is  imposs- 
ible. In  the  hour  of  trial  she  rises  to  sub- 
lime heights  of  self-denial,  proving  herself 
stronger  than  the  man. 

"Scores  a  sensational  hit." — N.  Y.  Evening  Sun. 
Price  SO  Cents;  Postage  12  Cents 


The  Macaulay  Company,  Publishers 

15  West  38th  Street  New  York 


Four  Literary  Sensations 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  NIGHT 

By  Gaston  Leroun 
Author  of  "THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  YELLOW 

ROOM,"  etc. 

Another  thrilling  mystery  story  in  which  the  famous 
French  detective  hero,  Joseph  Rouletabille,  makes  his 
appearance  before  the  public  again.  This  character  has 
won  a  place  in  the  hearts  of  novel  readers  as  no  other 
detective  has  since  the  creation  of  Sherlock  Holmes. 

GUARDIAN  ANGELS 

By  Marcel  Prevost 
Member  of  the  Academic  Franchise,  Officer  of  the  Legion 

of  Honor, 

Author  of  "SIMPLY  WOMEN,"  etc. 
Every  married  woman  ought  to  read  this  novel,  if  only 
to  be  forewarned  against  a  danger  that  may  one  day  in- 
vade her  own  home.  It  is  a  story  of  the  double  life  led 
by  the  governesses  of  many  young  girls,  showing  the 
dangers  of  such  companionships. 

WHOSO  FINDETH  A  WIFE 

Being  an  Answer  to  Hall  Caine's  "The  Woman  Thou 
Gavest  Me."  By  J.  Wesley  Putnam 

This  modern  romance  constitutes  an  argument  against 
the  tendency  to  exalt  what  is  termed  "natural  law"  over 
God's  law.  The  so-called  "unwritten  law"  has  kept  the 
rope  from  the  neck  of  more  than  one  murderer,  and  the 
wolf  from  the  door  of  more  than  one  novelist;  but  there 
are  those  who  persistently  believe  that  the  laws  of  the 
Bible  are  the  underlying  basis  of  the  social  structure. 

THE  NIGHT  OF  TEMPTATION 

By  Victoria  Cross 
Author  of  "LIFE'S  SHOP  WINDOW,"  "FIVE 

NIGHTS,"  etc. 

This  book  takes  for  its  keynote  the  self-sacrifice  of 
woman  in  love.  The  heroine  gives  herself  to  a  man  for 
his  own  sake,  for  the  happiness  she  can  give  him.  He  is 
her  hero,  her  god,  and  she  declines  to  marry  him  until 
she  is  satisfied  that  he  cannot  live  without  her. 

Price,  $1.25  net  per  copy;  postage,  12  cents 

The  Macaulay  Company,  Publishers 

15  West  38th  Street  New  York 


Three  Great  Novels 

BASED  ON  FAMOUS  PLAYS 

TO-DAY 

By  George   Broadhurst  and  Abraham  S.  Schomer 

Price,  $1.25  net;  Postage  12  Cents 

If  you  want  real  human  interest,  real  heart  throbs,  be  sure  to 
read  *'  TO-DAY." 

If  you  loved  your  wife  and  she  committed  the  greatest  wrong, 
would  you  forgive  her  ? 

If  your  wife  associated  with  a  woman  of  bad  influence  and 
you  found  it  out,  what  would  you  do  ? 

Get  your  answer  in  the  sensational  novel  hit  of  the  year. 

AT  BAY,  by  George  Scarborough 

Price,  $1.25  net;  Postage  12  cents 

Who  was  cne  culprit  ? 

Who  killed  Lawyer  Flagg  ? 

The  police  accused  a  prominent  society  girl,  and  Aline  Graham 
herself  thought  she  was  guilty.  This  remarkable  detective  story 
unravels  the  mystery  in  a  series  of  thrilling  scenes. 

THE  FAMILY  CUPBOARD 
By  Owen  Davis 

Price  $1.25  net;  Postage  12  cents 

Sometimes  a  respectable  father  revolts  from  the  bondage  im- 
posed upon  him  by  an  extravagant  wife  and  family. 

Charles  Nelson  needed  affection.  Lacking  it  at  home,  he 
sought  it  elsewhere,  thereby  stumbling  into  a  most  amazing 
entanglement. 

The   Macaulay   Company,  Publishers 

15  West  38th  Street  New  York 


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